


who is the lamb

by lasciel



Series: Rabbit Heart [7]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altered Mental States, Attempted Murder, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Morality, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Knotting, M/M, Murder, Rough Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciel/pseuds/lasciel
Summary: Nisha has created a monster.Okay, maybe that’s not entirely fair. Rhys is a big boy — he can accept some of the responsibility. But only a very small part, because most of this is definitely, without a doubt, Nisha’s fault.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> as always, a huge thank you to [Anya](http://scootsaboot.tumblr.com/) and [Jun](http://ssealdog.tumblr.com/) for beta-reading this and for cheering me on, and to the wonderful people, anon or not, who also left me kind words.
> 
> explicit is for this part overall; this chapter is rated mature. additional tags will be added with new chapters, and I'll try to upload one at least once a week, but I can't make any promises. chapter tally may change yet.
> 
> and now settle in, and enjoy, because this one is going to be even longer than the last two parts combined!

Nisha has created a monster.

Okay, maybe that’s not entirely fair. Rhys is a big boy — he can accept some of the responsibility. But only a very small part, because most of this is definitely, without a doubt, Nisha’s fault.

It’s not a beast with deadly fangs or poisonous tentacles. Nothing you’d find lunging for you on Pandora.

This particular monster has strong, hairy arms, a chest much the same, and shoulders that offer the perfect place to rest your head on.

To Rhys, this is apparently a much more potent threat than any theoretical horror lurking on Pandora. A staggeringly lethal combination, you could say. 

Because Nisha used sex and violence to knock some sense into Jack, and now Jack has turned into a monster. 

A cuddle monster.

No, from all the possible outcomes resulting from Nisha’s visit, he definitely had not seen this one coming. And Rhys has a lot of imagination — _too_ much if you ask his friends, which you shouldn't do anyway because they are biased.

Jack absent-mindedly rests his cheek against the top of Rhys’ head, grumbles something under his breath while pressing his nose into Rhys’ hair, simply _inhales_ , and Rhys loses his train of a thought in a spectacular accident. There are screeching rails and explosions, probably. 

No survivors.

When he comes to again Jack is busily typing away on his keyboard once more.

Rhys licks his lips. 

Where was he again?

Jack drums his fingers against Rhys’ left leg, stops and goes back to his reports before Rhys can figure out the rhythm.

Rhys frowns at his now lonely leg. 

Right. 

Nisha created a monster, and then she up and vanished and left Rhys all alone to its tender mercies and suddenly infinite amounts of affectionate attention.

Rhys was sure it was only a temporary thing, much like Nisha’s presence on Helios. That it would appear with a bang, overwhelming and fantastic, and vanish again with a pitiful wheeze.

But no, almost four weeks have passed already since Nisha left, and so far Jack shows no sign of tiring of this: Rhys spread out over his lap, shoeless legs dangling off the side of Jack's chair and his shoulder resting against Jack’s chest.

Rhys got rid of his pullover some time ago, and only now realises that Jack must have draped his own jacket over Rhys’ other shoulder, long before the slight ever-present chill of Jack’s office ever had the chance to get to him. 

Occasionally, Jack reaches for something on his desk, and their bare arms will brush against each other, Jack’s skin hairy and rough against his own smooth one.

If Hyperion could find a way to bottle up this sensation, to mimic this imperfect glide, Rhys is pretty sure they would leave their competition in the dust. Not that Rhys wants to share this. 

He sniffs, considering. 

Well, maybe for the correct price.

Rhys shakes his head slightly, trying to get the train back on track, but it’s difficult, surrounded as he is by Jack right now. No wonder Rhys is pretty much spectacularly and semi-permanently drunk on his alpha’s scent. 

He grins, doesn’t bother to hide the jaw cracking yawn that had been lurking inside of his chest for a while now.

A practiced blink and quick check in with his ECHOeye confirms that it’s pretty late already.

“I’ll be done soon,” Jack says quietly, as if following along on the same rails, his voice rough from disuse. “Go to bed. I’ll be there before you know it.” He brushes his lips against Rhys’ temple, barely there and gone again in the next second. 

Rhys presses himself closer against Jack’s chest, helpless to stop a dopey smile from stealing over his dry lips. “’s okay. I’ll wait.” His voice doesn’t sound any better than Jack’s.

Jack hums noncommittally, attention back at the report he’s been picking apart for hours now.

To be honest, Rhys doesn’t really get it. They didn’t even have sex today, and it seems unlikely that either of them will still have the energy for it, whenever Jack’s mysterious ‘soon’ will make an appearance.

Oh, sure, they still have sex, _great_ , _fantastic_ sex, every couple of days, and Jack always takes his sweet time taking Rhys apart.

Now that he knows about drops, he even keeps Rhys close after, for much longer than necessary, until Rhys basically has to insist to be allowed to go. _’Jack, I’m serious, unhand me now, you’re being ridiculous! Yes, I’m 115% sure I won’t have a drop anymore. No, I won’t jump into my friends’ arms as soon as I’m out of your sight. Jack, I swear, I_ will _bite you.’_

And sure, all of this is still novel enough to leave Rhys permanently off balance, but he gets it, in a way. 

It even makes sense, if you can consider anything Handsome Jack does ‘making sense’.

But this, this cuddling without a preceding or following fuck? That leaves Rhys completely stumped.

He knows what he gets out of it, and it would be impossible to ignore this all consuming feeling of _belonging_ , of _safety_ , even if he were inclined to try. He just can’t imagine how Jack could be possibly benefitting from this. Sure, through the bond he knows that Jack’s franticness calms slightly when they are like this, but that’s not exactly something of importance to Jack. And even less to Handsome Jack.

At first Rhys was sure this was only down to one thing: Jack’s smarting ego.

The man in question jostles his side, continuing their conversation as if no time has passed. “Then you might as well make yourself useful. Pencil in a meeting with Ms. Silverlane sometime later this week. Her shotgun designs are showing a lot of potential, and might just be what we were missing.”

“I’m not your secretary,” Rhys grumbles, even while he rotates his shoulders and mentally prepares himself for the journey ahead. He activates his ECHOeye again, embracing the comforting blue blanket it throws over the world.

Because Jack couldn’t handle being wrong on his best days, and considering Nisha’s and Jack’s apparently loaded history, getting called a terrible alpha by her must have raised his hackles something fiercely.

So Rhys figured this entire cuddling business came with an expiration date, one not measured in days but minutes.

Until he received a message from Jack last week, containing a link and a concise, _so you know when you can drop by._

The ‘can’ was already enough to leave Rhys suspicious, and considering who he was dealing with here, he made sure to activate his palm computer and threw up his strongest firewall before following the link, just in case Jack had new funny plans for his cybernetics.

By now the link is at the top of his bookmarks, and it doesn’t take even a moment to access it.

Immediately the inconspicuous address sends him along a secured Hyperion data trail, to a low-traffic Hyperion server, then another, more secure one, and then he’s being re-routed to three more servers in quick succession, the process so fast Rhys still gets dizzy trying to follow along while yellow data towers flow by, trying to figure out if they are all stationed on Helios.

The final destination definitely is Hyperion made, an imposing virtual fortress, and instantly Rhys is being scanned, _read_. It isn’t a bad feeling as much as just a very intrusive one, even after going through the process several times. 

Nobody ever said Handsome Jack wasn’t thorough.

Two seconds after confirming the link, his ECHOeye presents him with a by now familiar calendar. 

Rhys considers the next few days. It’s Thursday, and Jack doesn’t do weekends but even considering this harrowing fact, there is precious little space left in between the dozens of appointments. A lot of them are his own, but Rhys isn’t thinking about that right now or he’ll be right back on the wrecked train to Daze City. 

The appointments are all written in code, and Rhys still doesn’t understand most of them, even though he’s already amassed a considerable database of the various abbreviations and colours, and what they mean when used in combination.

Or what they _might_ mean in combination, to be more accurate.

He raises his eyebrows when he spots a new one. Saturday, 11 am, ‘b00mtwn w/ GraTz’, all in purple. 

Honestly, what the heck? Rhys would accuse Jack of writing bullshit in here just to seem Extra Busy and Important, being Jack and all, but the almost obsessive way in which he tends to his calendar probably means that this is all the real deal.

Jack nudges him gently. “Hey, you falling asleep on me? Don’t make me fire you for being a terrible secretary.”

Rhys nudges him right back, accidentally-on-purpose presses his elbow into Jack’s stomach for just a moment longer than can be strictly comfortable. “I’m not your secretary. In fact, you still haven’t made up your mind about what my actual job description even _is_.” 

Not that this bothers him. 

At all. 

Only a little bit when he thinks about it. 

Or when he sits in another meeting with the board people who know what they are doing and are all very much more important than him. 

So, basically only once every other day. Maybe twice.

Anyway. 

Rhys exhales loudly, and stares at the colourful entries with more focus.

When Jack is about to say something — no doubt another joke about Rhys as his glorified secretary — Rhys says firmly, “I’m kind of having trouble fitting her in anywhere.” He tilts his head just enough for Jack to be able to see his smirk. “It looks a bit like somebody got their hands on too much fingerpaint and went overboard with it. I mean, even more so than usual.” 

On further consideration, there’s suddenly a lot of yellow ‘r’s there, which Rhys has figured boils down to nothing more than Jack doing research on his own. “I don’t think it was quite so bad yesterday?” he adds nonchalantly, just in case Jack feels like sharing some information with his lowly not-secretary today.

Jack makes a small noise in agreement. “Something came up.” He hammers away on his keyboard for a moment. “Gotta follow up on it ASAP, you know how it is.”

Rhys sighs internally, gets out the bigger guns, and rests his forehead against Jack’s throat. “Something interesting?”

There’s a pause, long enough for Rhys to go from mildly interested to very interested indeed.

“Nah.” Jack presses his lips against Rhys’ hair. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” He chuckles, opens another file on his computer. “You’ll get wrinkles, and wouldn't that be a shame.”

Rhys adjusts his position, leaning back, and pulls a face when he realises that the right side of his ass is almost completely asleep. “Don’t _you_ worry.” He minimises the calendar, leaving the ECHOeye activated, and smiles sweetly at Jack. One day Rhys’ll tell him that he looks good in blue; today is not that day, though. “I’ll leave the wrinkles all to you, old man.”

Predictably, Jack narrows his eyes, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

He probably fools himself into thinking it’s a menacing frown.

“No reason to hit below the belt.” Jack puts his index finger under Rhys’ chin, his thumb at the edge of Rhys’ lips. He grins lopsidedly, says quietly, “Rhysie, you know I have my reasons for keeping you out of the deeper parts of Hyperion.”

Well, yes. Rhys knows Jack has his reasons for keeping him in the dark about Handsome Jack’s side of the business dealings, they’ve argued about this often enough already. All Rhys gets to hear about through the meetings he sits in are sales expectations, profit margins, tax evasion and the likes. Enough to make him thirsty for the entire picture, never enough to actually be of any use to Jack.

 _‘It’s better this way’_ , ‘ _blah blah reasons blah’_.

Rhys just doesn’t know what those reasons actually _are_.

Sighing, he grabs Jack’s hand with his metal fingers, sucks Jack’s thumb into his mouth. 

Jack raises an eyebrow.

Rhys bites down, not quite gently, then kisses the rough fingertip. He let’s go of Jack’s arm and activates his palm-comp again, transferring the calendar to it. “I’m going to cede my time slot on Saturday to her,” he says, and let’s Jack watch while he makes the changes.

‘silverstreak oo, 10pm’, all in silver. 

A weird variation of the real name, a bit of colour, oo to hint at a shotgun. Not very creative, but it fits right in with the rest if them.

Before Jack can make a big deal out of it, he de-activates his cybernetics, pats Jack’s chest and stands up with minimal hissing. 

For the next cuddling session, he’s definitely bringing a pillow. 

An obnoxiously big one. 

“I’m heading to bed now.” He takes a step in the direction of the adjacent bedroom, dodges to the side when Jack makes a grab for him. “Don’t make me wait too long or I’m going to hog all the blankets for the night!” he sing-songs.

Rhys can hear Jack complaining behind him, and knows he’s made his point. 

Is he being petty? 

Please, he’s the uncrowned _king_ of Petty Hill. But he’s also not heading over to Vaughn’s and his apartment, because he doesn’t actually want to have a fight over this right now.

He feels annoyed, yeah, but mostly... content. And through the bond, he feels Jack mirroring the emotion.

* * *

He makes a quick detour to the small bathroom, brushes his teeth and winks at himself in the mirror before actually venturing inside the tiny, dark bedroom.

Out of the corner of his eyes he checks in on Jack before closing the door behind himself.

Still working, and still grumbling to himself, if Rhys isn’t mistaken.

Yep, figures.

Three blinks and the lights turn on, bathing the small square room in something akin to candlelight. A huge bed, two night tables, and barely enough space to walk in between. He's gotta give it to Jack, though: while the obsidian walls make the room feel as oppressive as a particularly luxurious elevator, the way the lights flicker off of the shiny surfaces is not something you see everyday. A bit like being in a cool oven. 

Rhys doesn't know why that should be anything but nightmare fuel, but somehow it is.

He hums to himself while he undresses, leaves his boxer shorts on, and his prosthetic in the spare cradle Jack installed here some time ago. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to have at least some pajamas here for occasions like this as well, but Rhys doesn't like giving Jack the idea that sleeping in the office is acceptable.

Which it's not, no matter how often Jack likes to argue for it. Sometimes even with made up graphs and flowcharts that follow Jack's peculiar, circular logic.

A bedroom next to the office is still technically very much a part of the office. Rhys won't be swayed on this.

He stretches on the bed on all fours, then decides he’d rather make real on his threat, and rolls himself up in the two massive blankets; one yellow, one black, because of course they are. They are wonderfully smooth as well, made out of a material Rhys hadn’t even heard of before he met Handsome Jack, and this is going to be too hot in no time, but Rhys'll worry about that when it happens.

For a few moments he just lies there, and watches the not-candlelight flicker on the ceiling while his fingers tap restlessly on his stomach.

Rhys grins, and activates his ECHOeye again.

Even if he really planned to go to bed soon, Jack probably won't join him for a couple of minutes now.

At the end of the day, Jack enjoys making a point probably even more than Rhys does.

This time Rhys doesn't try to get a fix on the server locations, just lets himself flow on the data trail until the calendar fills his vision again.

He bites his lip, and tries to remember if he overheard anything that might hint at the cause of Jack's sudden research spree.

Nope, nothing. 

Though, considering Rhys didn't really listen to _anything_ in the last couple of meetings, just recorded them, in case he needed them later, that's not really a surprise, is it?

Rhys sighs. Maybe it's finally time he accepted his role as a kept omega. Some people seem to enjoy it well enough, if you can believe the magazines Vaughn keeps hidden in the washing room and which Rhys denies ever skimming through.

He shakes his head at himself, grinning wryly.

Here he is, claiming one of Handsome Jack's beds for himself, protected and cared for and almost without a care in the world and he's complaining about wanting to do actual work.

The irony is not lost on Rhys.

It’s not about having a bigger paycheck. He has no doubts that if he asked Jack for a raise he’d get one right away, with probably nothing more than an amused comment, and probably more than thrice as high as Rhys was going for as well.

Wealth was never closer, never easier to achieve, and here he is, busy wanting to actually earn it.

His old _Labour economics_ teacher Mrs. Krell would be so disappointed in him.

Rhys sighs heavily, fingers fisted into his hair.

He just can't shake off the certainty that he could do so much more for Jack. 

Could _be_ more than a kept omega, if he just got a chance to prove himself, if Jack would just trust him a bit more, if—

Rhys shakes the thoughts off before they can taint the mellow warmth inside of his chest. Still, he'll keep his eyes and ears open. You never know when you might stumble over a useful piece of information, especially not on Helios.

With some difficulty he moves his focus away from the mocking yellow ‘r’s, and to his own ‘appointments’ with Jack, spread throughout the entire week, and the next, and the entire month if he were to enhance the calendar.

He doesn't, just bites his lip and stares at the abbreviation Jack picked for him.

‘qt w/ qt’, the letters alternating between brown and blue.

 _Quality time with the cutie_ , coloured just like Rhys' eyes. 

Yes, Jack had to explain it to him, which is not a conversation anybody can ever know about, ever, if Rhys has any say in it. 

No, Rhys still can't think about this without wanting to hide his face from the world.

Instead of laughing giddily, he bites his lip and closes his eyes, as if that could help against the knowledge of what a huge, embarrassing weirdo Jack is.

It doesn't, and Rhys opens them again, presses the back of his hand against his mouth.

Of all the secrets Rhys is keeping Vaughn and Yvette in the dark about, this might the least dangerous but most awkward and confusing one.

The door slides open and Rhys rolls onto his stomach, deactivates his ECHOeye while he does so, and rests his head on his arm.

They look at each other for a moment.

Somewhere on the way here Jack got rid of most of his clothes, and Rhys watches him appreciatively while he gets rid of the lone sock still on his feet, their eyes never breaking contact.

Jack has this thing about standing naked in front of the large glass pane behind his desk, fists resting at his hips and chest puffed up while he gazes down at Pandora, a visiting ship or whatever else he sees out there.

Rhys finds it confusingly endearing.

"Enjoying the view?" Jack asks, showing off his profile, then his ass and back.

Grinning, Rhys probs himself up on his elbow. "I’d applaud your efforts, but alas." He wiggles his fingers at Jack.

"That’s perfectly alright." Jack bows elegantly. "Your support, however lacking applause, is muchly appreciated." He moves closer, bends down and pokes Rhys' forehead. "Now make room or I’ll make you."

Rhys considers Jack's inviting posture, the small twitch at the right corner of his mouth, his slowly filling cock.

Sex would mean some sweaty and tiring fun.

It would also leave him sweaty and even more tired and he just made himself comfortable.

He shakes his head, then rolls himself partly free of the blankets, making space. "Wanna sleep."

Jack lets out a loud breath, and falls down heavily next to him, on top of the covers. "Thank fuck."

Rhys raises an eyebrow at him, slightly perplexed.

"I was afraid you were going to say yes, because I’m well and truly _beat_." He stretches his arms up into the air, laughs when the joints pop loudly. "I’d have to sneak in an ENGORGE pill or two, and man, that stuff leaves my throat parched like a desert."

 _Absolutely not!_ Not after Rhys has declared a ban on that chemical punishment.

He's about to give Jack another piece of his mind when Jack suddenly rolls over and presses a quick, hard kiss onto Rhys' lips. 

"I know, I know, I was just saying." Jack moves closer still and throws his arm around Rhys' middle. His lips come to rest on the side of Rhys' throat, and he murmurs, "No reason to get mad."

Okay then. Rhys blinks at the ceiling. He's pretty much used by now to Jack's often convoluted thought process, but... "Why’d you offer then?"

Warm breath huffs against Rhys' shoulder.

"Because I didn't want you to think I don't want you anymore," Jack answers slowly, an added _you idiot_ loudly implied.

Rhys' eyebrows draw together. Well, now this is officially getting weird. He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Jack. “What?”

Distractedly, Jack begins stroking his side. “It's important to let your partner now that you still desire them even if you’re not sexually active.” He frowns, thinking. “I know you were checking the calendar again just now.” Their eyes meet, hold. “Don't you like the code I picked for you? I told you to tell me if you didn't.”

Rhys opens his mouth. Closes it again.

Jack nods. "I wanted to go with ‘pyt’ at first." He grins, his caress turning into a tickle suddenly, and Rhys squirms. "’Pretty young thing’, in case you don't know that one either."

"I knew that," Rhys replies automatically, still trying and failing to get out of Jack's reach.

Jack's grin widens. "Course you did." 

When Rhys only rolls his eyes, mouthing ‘weirdo’, Jack tuts at him. “Rhysie, I told you already. You have to listen to the pulse of time. Teens know what’s up. Plus, it makes for cool codewords.” He sounds so proud of himself, Rhys has to bite his tongue or he’d laugh.

Or worse yet, he might accidentally say what’s really on his mind, _don’t you think you’re a bit too old for that?_ and that might actually cause Jack to take all the blankets for himself. Seeing as Rhys is extremely comfortable right now, that would be truly awful.

Jack’s hand comes to rest on Rhys' hip, and he turns serious again. "I thought you might be opposed to that one due to unfortunate implications. Omega history is still young, and being reduced to—"

Okay, enough is enough. "Stop!" He presses his palm against Jack's still moving lips, swallows incredulous laughter. "Jack, what the hell? Did you get taken over by a questioningly programmed A.I.? Do I need to call security?" Rhys takes his hand away again, snaps his fingers. "Oh, I know! Did you actually plan on taking a couple of ENGORGE pills but ended up swallowing the wrong ones?" _That_ seems the most likely explanation.

Jack's eyes narrow. He doesn't really look like somebody high on drugs. Or in need for his personal doctor, for that matter.

"Contrary to other people, I read." Jack sniffs. "A lot."

It takes a while for that to sink in.

When it finally does, Rhys leans down and presses his lips against Jack's, keeps kissing him until the angry edges of Jack's mouth soften.

There's a lot Rhys wants to say to that. _Should_ say to that, probably, because Jack only cares for himself and anything that he might benefit from directly, and even imagining him suffering through one of those educational dissertations Rhys himself gave up on after the first few sentences is… a lot to take in.

Instead, Rhys smiles, whispers softly against Jack’s shiny lips, “You are still weird."

Jack stares at him incredulously. " _I’m_ weird? I wasn't the one imitating a mutated caterpillar just now!"

Laughing quietly, Rhys nods his head in agreement. "Point."

Apparently, Jack will not be appeased this easily. "Maybe I’ll change it again. I’m not really feeling the ‘qt’ anymore." 

There's a mean glint in his eyes, and Rhys braces himself in preparation for the next volley fired his way.

"Because I know for a fact that I gave you an extremely clever and amazing job title weeks ago, which means you had less than zero rights to give me shit about that." His grin takes on a victorious edge.

Rhys narrows his eyes at him.

Sometimes Jack is so full of shit, it's difficult to tell when he's actually bullshitting you, and when he has managed to convince himself of his own bullshit so effectively he believes it to be the truth. 

In the wake of Rhys' silence, Jack's grin only grows bigger.

Ah. The latter case, then.

Rhys draws himself up on his arm, then falls forward over Jack's middle, enjoying the pained exhalation of air it causes, and grabs Jack's PDA from the night table.

His ECHOeye is already scrolling down his bookmarks list, and by the time he’s arranged himself so that he’s now leaning against Jack's side, the link to his employee file is already open and filling part of his vision.

With a glance he sends it to the PDA, shoves it against Jack's chest while it's still loading.

Convenient, when your cybernetics are compatible with almost everything around you. 

Seeing as it used to be the only edge Rhys had over other employees — never mind its importance to his survival — he's been rather diligent about keeping it that way.

Crossing your arms in front of your chest isn't an option when you've only got one of them, but Rhys has long since learned to convey the gesture with a judgement-filled stare alone.

Jack alternates between scowling at the PDA and at Rhys, and just when Rhys is about to threaten to blow the stupid thing up if Jack isn't about to use it anyway — which is not actually something he can do — yet, Jack tilts it up and looks at the display.

Rhys knows what he, and the handful of other people with high enough clearance, get to see there.

A fairly standard personal data sheet, his strengths and weaknesses according to Hyperion, a footnote on his completely healthy knack for Handsome Jack collectibles…

…and right there, underneath his flattering picture, his supposed job title.

_note to self: make up smth clever & amazing later._

Sometimes Rhys misses being a Middle Manager. Now that was a respectable title Rhys worked long and hard for.

Silence reigns, while he's reminiscing about past glory. 

And then Jack has the audacity to _laugh_.

He barely manages to get the PDA out of reach before Rhys is on him, pride rattled and running too hot to form a proper plan of attack.

Jack rolls with it, catches Rhys in his arms and flips them over, Rhys' left hand in his right, Jack's other one resting just beneath his shoulder port.

"Oops?" Jack says, mirth in every drawn out syllable and Rhys growls.

Unsurprisingly, that doesn't deter Jack at all. He leans closer, chuckles when Rhys catches his bottom lip between his teeth before he can even initiate the kiss.

They stay like this, and Rhys considers making Jack bleed for this, just a tiny bit, nothing major.

Jack doesn't make any move to free himself, even though there's no doubt he could. He seems content to let himself be mauled by Rhys, to do nothing but gaze at him, amused and… impossibly warm.

Rhys blinks, thrown off-balance even while he's laying on his back.

It's difficult to consider anything but his smarting ego, but Rhys tries.

Emotions aren't easy to read, even through a bond, even with the added bonus of having the one you’re bonded to right in front of you. It's a bit like data mining in an encoded server — just without having the description key for it, and without knowing what it is you are actually searching for.

There's no anger on Jack's side anymore that much Rhys is pretty sure about. He's also not nearly as amused as his laughter would have you assume. 

Rhys frowns, tugs at Jack's bottom lip, simply because he can.

In reaction, Jack merely hums.

Rhys is beginning to feel slightly ridiculous.

But somehow it figures that Jack would rather bleed than say anything resembling _sorry_.

With another growl, Rhys releases Jack's lip, only to claim it again in the next instant. He licks into Jack's mouth, holding Jack's gaze as he does so, and enjoys the thrill of power that curls low in his stomach when Jack _lets him_.

If Jack is incapable of apologising like a reasonable person, then Rhys doesn't have to feel even slightly bad about taking advantage of what little is offered instead.

By the time Rhys has worked the frustration out of his system they are both breathing heavily. 

Jack's weight is pinning him to the bed, and Rhys' hand feels rather clammy where it's still clutched in Jack's. Not to mention the friction of his shorts rubbing against his half-hard cock, which stopped being pleasant a while ago.

Even without sex, Rhys ended up sweaty and more exhausted than before. He snorts, amused.

Jack nudges his nose against Rhys'. "Hey," he says quietly. "Sleep?"

Rhys smiles sweetly. "That’s the smartest thing you've said in _hours_.”

Chuckling, Jack rolls off of him and fits himself against Rhys' right side. "Yeah, yeah."

Their joined hands are now lying on Rhys stomach, skin way too warm and icky.

Rhys doesn't have it in him to break the contact. 

As if on its own, his head slides to the side and comes to rest against Jack's chest.

A pleased exhalation of air against his ear, and Rhys' eyes slide shut automatically, sheltered by Promethean silk and Jack's body.

Honestly, for all his complaining, life's pretty great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please remember, your nice comments and [asks](https://ledgem.tumblr.com/ask) are the free, ecofriendly fuel this series continues to live on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your lovely feedback; it's so good to know that you still care about these two idiots as much as I do <3

Life's _fantastic_.

"Are you sure?" Rhys actually stops working on the code currently spread out on his palm-comp, and stares at Vaughn with an amount of hope and wonder usually reserved for the last spoonful of his favourite ice cream.

Vaughn stops sorting his text markers for a moment, and sends Rhys a Look over his glasses. "Please, do you even know me? The day I joke about money transactions is the day Hyperion will get us actual healthcare."

Never then, which: fair. That was a stupid question. 

Still.

Deciding this is rather more interesting than fiddling with the algorithms for his data storage, Rhys de-activates his palm-comp and shuffles closer to Vaughn.

It was nice of Vaughn to put a soft rug on his bedroom floor; Rhys' knees are appreciating the foresight a lot right now.

He leans his back against the foot of the bed, his right thigh against Vaughn's. "Tell me everything you know," he says, sounding only slightly out of breath in his excitement.

From above him, there’s an amused snort. "So much for this afternoon only being about us three." Yvette takes advantage of her current height advantage and thoroughly ruffles Rhys' hair.

Surprisingly, Rhys doesn't even care. He prods Vaughn's side. "Come on, bro. Spill."

Sighing, Vaughn gives his text markers a last, loving pat before giving Rhys his full attention.

Rhys would totally make fun of him for it, but seeing as he does the same with his prosthetic when nobody is looking, he really has no leg to stand on.

"It’s been going on for a while now. As soon as Vasquez gets paid, he transfers most of it to _Assessment & Rectification_." Vaughn shakes his head sadly. "Keeps his balance just barely in the black."

Rhys makes a consoling sound, and pats Vaughn's leg, because even if this is Assquez they are talking about here, it's not the bank account’s fault it belongs to an asshole. "Any idea what for?"

Yvette rests her chin on top of his head, and even though it's rather pointy, Rhys doesn't really mind.

"Well…" Vaughn adjusts his glasses, fidgets. "You sure you want to know?"

Why wouldn't he want to know? Frowning, Rhys realises that Yvette is being weirdly quiet. He’d glance up at her, but she has him rather pinned right now.

"Well," Vaughn says again, then looks at Rhys, his mouth an unhappy, concerned line. "Alright." He exhales loudly. "When he did You Know What, apparently one of the guys he got killed was from a minor corporate-nobility family on Eden-7. They know that some people got punished for it, but somehow also know that the one responsible is still on the loose. I'm pretty sure the money's for reparations and some extra for the constant requests _A & R_ have to deal with now." Vaughn nudges his shoulder conspiratorially. "Rich people just have too much time on their hands, you know."

Rhys nods along. "Sweet, sweet justice. I hope they milk him for all he's worth." Then he makes himself grin to show that he’s completely fine.

Which he is. 

Sure, he keeps away from that particular hallway at the outer-rim of Helios like it's filled with pomegranates, and he still wakes up sometimes in the middle of the night because his lungs are convinced they aren’t getting any air, but apart from that? Really, he's fine.

Above them, Yvette hums, her shin shifting in Rhys' hair. "Seeing as we’re already on the topic, Vasquez has been trading in a lot of favours as well recently." She grabs Rhys’ left shoulder and kneads it distractedly. "If he keeps this up he won’t have any left.”

“Holy shit.” Rhys claps his hands in delight. Schadenfreude is the best, screw anyone who tries to tell you otherwise.

In the shiny shark tank that is Helios, having no favours equals social free fall without a net, which is why it’s so difficult for newbies who start out without knowing anyone prior to their arrival here.

Rhys had Vaughn. Vaughn had a distant cousin twice removed who worked in _Accounting_ and got him in as his replacement before leaving for a Hyperion outpost on some moon. Yvette and Erin only had each other; it’s probably why Yvette doesn’t like to talk about her first few months on Helios.

Not that it matters anymore, anyway. Now Rhys, Vaughn and Yvette have each other. Rhys doesn’t have a comfortable favour pillow to rest himself on like some other people, and most of his favours are owed in areas that pretty much only benefit his cybernetics directly, but between the three of them they have amassed more than enough to walk Helio’s polished floors with confident steps.

As far as Rhys knows Vasquez had a proverbial oversized bathtub full of favours, which he enjoyed reminding everyone of at every opportunity. He must have been floundering for a long while for it to be this bad already.

“I feel like you’ve been holding out on me,” Rhys says jokingly, but when he gets only silence and uncomfortable shifting in answer, he slips out from underneath Yvette and turns around on his ass to stare at the both of them incredulously. “Seriously?”

Vaughn avoids his eyes, and takes one of his blue text markers between his fingers. “We haven’t really had a lot of time in the last couple of weeks to talk,” he says defensively.

Yvette, lying above them on the bed with her chin now propped up on her folded hands, nods in agreement.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Rhys stares at them some more. “You guys are _jealous_?”

The answers to that are immediate.

“Yes!” Vaughn shouts, shoulders shaking angrily, while at the same time, Yvette shakes her head sharply, proclaiming in the same volume as Vaughn, “No!”

Rhys decides to just keep staring at his friends until they decide to start making sense again.

Yvette lays one palm on Vaughn’s shoulder, and they share a long look, and Rhys tries and mostly succeeds at not feeling left out of their silent conversation. “Rhys, look.” Her smile is slightly askew but kind. “Ever since Jack’s special friend visited, you’ve been spending a lot more time with him.” She lifts one of her shoulders in a helpless half-shrug. “And a lot less time with us.”

Vaughn uncaps and caps the text marker in his hands repeatedly, grumbles, “I think you mean scary cowboy lady, and she totally was following me around for a couple of hours, no matter how often you two keep telling me I was only imagining it.”

Patting Vaughn’s shoulder, Yvette laughs quietly. “Please don’t misunderstand us. We’re happy you’re not having drops anymore, and that he’s taking care of you properly now.”

“Yeah, super happy,” Vaughn says sulkily, and Yvette flicks his ear without even looking away from Rhys. Putting the text marker away again, Vaughn glances at Rhys out of the corner of his eyes, says softly, “We miss you.”

And Rhys is man enough to admit it. His lower lip wobbles slightly.

He shuffles forward and throws his arms around both of them, hugging them close and tight until his shoulders protest. He has to swallow several times before he’s sure that his voice is even. “I don’t get why you guys didn’t just tell me this sooner, but rest assured.” He presses his lips against Vaughn’s forehead, then against Yvette’s temple. “There’s enough of the Rhys master for all three of you.”

Vaughn and Yvette groan in unison, and suddenly Yvette has her arms around his upper body while Vaughn sits down on his legs, his eyes narrowed.

Rhys blinks his eyelashes back at him, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.

“Make him pay,” Yvette says gravely from behind him, and Vaughn goes for his sides like a Skag let loose, and they have him crying and begging for mercy in a matter of seconds.

It really bears repeating.

Life’s fantastic.

* * *

It’s a bit harder to remind himself of that when he’s sitting in another meeting with all those sharply dressed and better paid people, who — most important of all — have actual, proper job titles on their profiles.

To be able to pretend that he’s doing something useful, Rhys has taken to recording every session he sits in on, and to later try to glean anything useful from that. Seeing as this is all the information he gets, though, nothing useful will actually ever come of it.

It’s occupational therapy, that’s what it is, and Rhys is painfully aware of that.

At least the others have accepted his presence by now and aren’t mincing words anymore. Even if Rhys only gets the basics of the numbers they throw around, thanks to being denied full access to Hyperion’s files, their open hostility for each other is entertaining enough that most of the time he’s wishing for some popcorn to go with the barbed comments and hidden insults that are being throw around.

There’s only one thing they seem to hate more than each other: outside competition.

“Yesterday’s reports show Dahl managed to accumulate a market increase of 12.60% in the military sector.” Ms. Senkin, the most severe-looking female beta Rhys ever met, gazes around the roundish table, her grim expression mirrored in the seven other attendants’ faces. When her eyes briefly meet his, Rhys makes sure to give off an equally stern air. “Twice as much as Hyperion achieved in the same time frame.” She sighs heavily. “I don’t think I need to tell anyone that we need an answer to that, and fast.”

Instead of the usual pandemonium that erupts as soon as anybody sees an opening to praise their own department, this time Mr. Billing actually clears his throat to make sure that he has everybody’s attention. 

Not so long ago, Rhys thought of the alpha only as ‘a Vasquez look-alike, only uglier’ until he realised that comparison was unfair to anyone who wasn’t actually Vasquez. Plus, Vaughn is really fond of Billing as his boss. Rhys is pretty sure this is almost completely down to Billing’s name, but he’s not about to call anyone out here. 

“The report also shows a steady increase in our favour in the other sectors, notably freelancers and special government forces.” Billing tugs at his black hair, and Rhys winces in sympathy. “It’s only military they are practically robbing from us.”

There’s a moment of contemplative and angry silence.

Rhys really wishes for some popcorn.

Mr. Gulas, a bald beta who’s usually silent, says so quietly Rhys has to strain his ears to understand him, “Their Sub Machine Guns are still unparalleled, image-wise.” When he doesn’t elaborate, everybody’s attention returns to Senkin.

It’s fascinating, really, how even the alphas look at her for guidance. She’s the oldest one in this meeting, and possibly even on Helios, pushing 70 as she is. Senkin wears her wrinkles and grey hair with pride, and considering that maybe it’s not so surprising after all that she often takes the lead almost completely unchallenged.

You’ve got to be a real badass to survive almost 40 years of employment on Helios.

Rhys straightens his back, suddenly flattered he’s seated only two seats away from her.

Senkin tilts her head to the side, brown eyes distant. “Kirrit, how did investments in SMG propaganda develop compared to last term?”

Kirrit Kadam, a bleached-blond alpha who looks and smells like old money, and Vasquez’ direct supervisor, checks his PDA. From one second to the next, his prosthetic fingers split and move rapidly over the interface. “We increased the budget on the planets on the outer ring by 19.741% and are now looking at a total of 800m. The Edens have been at a constant 670m for three years and are only increased enough to offset inflation for now.” Kadam takes a breath.

Those numbers used to make Rhys’ knees go weak; now he doesn’t even bat an eye 

It should probably worry him, how quickly he got used to all these zeros, and maybe he’ll ponder over this later. Right now, though, he would rather focus his attention on something else. Shiny prosthetic notwithstanding, it’s impressive how quickly Kadam has the numbers at the ready. Rhys liked him already before, seeing as he’s the only one standing — or in this case, sitting — between Vasquez and a chair at this table, but now Rhys actually considers reading up on him further.

The improvements Kadam made to his PDA must have come from somewhere, and Rhys really itches to implement them into his own palm-comp. 

Underneath the table, Rhys’ left leg twitches excitedly. Maybe somebody from _Robotics_? He frowns. Since _Robotics_ became even more close-knit in the last couple of months, it would take a lot of favours to get to the provider. Hopefully not them, then, but the code had to have to come from somebody not on Rhys’ radar. Which just leaves an outside source or an up-and-coming talent. 

Abruptly, he realises he let himself be distracted and quickly tunes in on the conversation again.

“... which means a total of 910m. Tantalus we only recently increased by 50.0% to 470m, and Thrace saw an increase of 36.037% to 530m.” Kadam places his PDA back on the table, fingers compacting and returning to their human-looking form.

Senkin taps her gnarly and very human fingers against her own PDA. “Dynat, you’re our resident expert. Between Tantalus and Thrace, which war is Dahl betting most of their horses on?”

Gulas’ reply comes immediately. “Tantalus.”

Humming, Senkin seems to consider this for a moment. “Increase SMG funding on Tantalus by another 8.008%.” 

Rhys presses his palm against his mouth, and inconspicuously checks if anybody else is having trouble not to chuckle. He’s mildly disappointed when his hopeful search is only rewarded with deeply concentrated expressions.

Behind his hand, Rhys pouts. For the first time he wishes Jack were a part of these sessions, because even with his embarrassing obsession with using ‘trendy’ slang, Jack would definitely have shared a laugh with Rhys over what is essentially the original, numerical boob joke.

Kadam tilts his head minutely. “Go on.”

Sure that she has everybody’s complete attention now, Serkin clears her throat. She smiles; Rhys shivers. “And while they believe us to be encroaching on their SMG domain, we will focus all our efforts on distributing our obsolete shields from last year’s production for a slightly cheaper price to the established black markets there.”

Murmuring and thoughtful nods follow in the wake of her declaration, and it doesn’t take long for the previous anger to vanish, replaced by victorious elation and laughter, and Rhys can’t help but be infected by the atmosphere. He feels practically _drunk_ on it, giddy and eager to hear the results of today's decision in the future.

Rhys decides right then that he will never daydream one of these meetings away again. He’ll keep recording each and every one of them, pull out everything that might prove useful later, and from that he’ll build his own database, further tweak his search parameters and algorithms until his reach will include every corner of Helios, of Hyperion, in all of its dark and dangerous and forbidden glory.

Even if it will take years to collect enough data to deduce anything useful from his efforts, he’ll create something special.

He’ll prove to Jack that he can be more than a kept omega.

* * *

The universe must have been listening in on his brilliant plan back then, because he gets his chance not even two weeks later.

* * *

“Come on, don’t give me that look.” Jack pats his office chair invitingly. “All I want is for you to sit down and appear busy while being your attractive self.”

Arms crossed in front of his chest, Rhys continues staring him down. He’s not _that_ easy, contrary to what other people might think.

Even if it feels like years away now, Rhys still vividly remembers the one and only time Jack made him sit down on that chair to plug him into the executive override. His ass twitches, and he shivers.

Rhys is not riding that rodeo ever again.

Jack places his chin on top of the back rest. “Rhysie, _please_ just do this for me? Pretty please?”

Handsome Jack should not be able to pull off sad puppy eyes. He should not. Rhys is pretty sure there are rules written against this somewhere. 

Sighing, Rhys’ shoulders slump. When he spots the self-satisfied grin that immediately settles on Jack’s mouth, he waves a warning finger at him. “No executive override!”

Jack nods eagerly, laughing. “Pinky swear.”

For one second Rhys considers actually having Jack doing a proper pinky swear, but he knows better than to think that would change anything.

Reluctantly, Rhys leaves the relative safety of the other side of the massive desk, steps around it, and glares at Jack.

Jack keeps grinning at him, pats the chair again.

Fine.

Rhys resigns himself to his fate.

He sits down, arms loosely in front of him. He doesn’t know if the restraints on the armrests are the only ones he needs to be wary of, but this way he’s at least avoiding getting trapped by those.

“Here we go.” Jack leans over his left shoulder, presses a quick kiss against his port, and then activates the small intercom on his desk before Rhys can smack him for that.

“Send him in.”

“Of course, sir,” a toneless voice replies, and Rhys figures it must belong to one of the guards in front of the elevator.

Rhys glances at Jack out of the corner of his eyes, but Jack’s relaxed body posture tells him next to nothing.

Annoyed and yes, slightly nervous as well, Rhys uses the freedom he has over Jack’s computer to open up a game of _Loader Bot Catcher_. He can feel Jack’s eyes on him while he traverses the system through the huge screen projection, and so he doesn’t linger on any folders or shortcuts, no matter how promising they sound, and goes straight to the games. 

They are actually not as buried in work related programs as Rhys suspected they would be, and he smiles, pleased to have learned something new about Jack.

The smile turns into a grin. 

Now to utterly destroy Jack’s personal high score. 

Still leaning against the side of the chair, Jack snorts. “No cheating.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, and moves the tiny Helios station at the edge of the screen to the left to catch a rapidly falling red Loader Bot and bring in those sweet, sweet bonus points. “Oh, please. I don’t need any help to beat your puny high score.”

Sure, his ECHOeye combined with his arm set to automatic-stimuli-reaction pretty much allow him to beat the game in his sleep, literally, but since Vaughn and Yvette punished him with two weeks of household chores after they caught him playing with his eye activated once, he’s not keen to find out what Jack would think up for him.

 _Unfair advantages my ass_. He paid and suffered for those extras; nothing unfair about reaping the benefits from them now and then, right?

Jack’s chuckle dies down when the large door on the other side of the office slides open.

Rhys doesn’t even try to take a peek off of the side of the screen projection to see who just entered. If Jack enjoys leaving him in the dark so much, then he’ll just have to deal with Rhys’ entirely faked disinterest in turn. He finishes level 3 with only two Loader Bots missed in total, and hums, satisfied.

Jack’s high score is toast.

The man in question straightens slightly, no longer fully leaning against the chair. Only Jack’s arm is still resting against the back of it.

And just like that Rhys realises that this entire situation is nothing more than a careful arrangement. Jack is trying to show off something — Rhys’ usefulness to Jack? his part in Helio’s proceedings? — to… someone. 

Seeing as Jack has made sure Rhys is basically useless to Hyperion at this point, it’s anybody’s guess if Rhys is supposed to be in on the joke or merely the butt of it

The obnoxious scent hits him first, and Rhys stiffens. He grinds his teeth and seethes, even more so when the incredulous look he aims at Jack is largely ignored.

Why does it always have to be bloody _Vasquez_? Whys can’t Jack surprise him with an exotic dancer for once? Shit, Rhys would even gladly take a clown over this.

Level 4 comes and passes by without Rhys catching even one Loader Bot.

“Heya, Wallethead! Come on up, take a seat, no reason to be shy.”

And Vasquez does. Sits down on the other side of Jack’s desk, opposite of Rhys, as if there isn’t a big, ugly case of attempted murder idling between them.

Rhys doesn’t even glance at Vasquez, but on the keyboard his fingers twitch. He tries to focus on the screen again, which currently shows the lush tropical dome of some remote resort planet in the background, but his mind is racing, trying to figure out just _what the hell Jack is thinking here_.

Vasquez must be equally confused or staring at Rhys, because Jack says, “Don’t mind him, Rhysie is giving me a hand with something right now.”

Which is just complete and utter _bullshit_ , and a shitty innuendo to boot, because Handsome Jack is a dick like that.

As soon as Jack’s back is turned away from him, Rhys will demolish Jack’s high score, no holds barred.

No, wait, screw that. 

He’ll demolish every single damn high score of every single damn game Jack ever played on this system.

“Go on. Those quarterly figures don’t wait for anyone.”

“Yes, sir, of course, my apologies. As usual?”

Rhys hadn't realised how much he hadn’t missed Vasquez’ voice until this moment. One thing is certain: if this farce goes on for long enough, he won’t have anymore teeth left to grind.

“Yep, give me those naughty little numbers.”

Despite himself, Rhys feels curiosity overpower his annoyance. Potentially more data to feed into his database? He’ll happily take that, even if the information comes from Assquez.

Vasquez clears his throat. “On the topic of investment developments in SMG propaganda the following suggestions were made.” He takes a deep breath.

Swallowing a heavy sigh, Rhys goes back to catching falling Loader Bots. Of all the infinite possibilities, of course they’d go over the plans from the last meeting. Can’t have Rhys learn anything new, after all.

“Aquator up by 8.920% to 360m. Athenas down by 15.088% to 267m. Outer ring planets up by 19.741% to 800m. The Edens stay at 670m, plus inflation. Eunomia—”

Tilting his head slightly, Rhys decides he’d rather watch Jack than listen to this again. He won’t be able to beat the high score like this anyway.

Jack’s eyes are unfocused, and he’s nodding along in a steady rhythm. It’s almost hypnotic, in a way.

“...to 322m. Hermes up by 57.118% to—”

Rhys can’t help but listen in with half an ear after all, but he wonders: is Jack recording this somehow as well? Or is he tallying the numbers against each other all by himself, comparing them to last year’s? The years before as well, possibly? Is he setting them side by side to his master plan for Hyperion’s future, seeing how far he has already come and how far he still wants to go?

Rhys’ questions are unending, as is frustration that Jack doesn’t want, doesn’t _need_ his help. 

He had daydreams, sometimes, way back when he was poring over dozens of books in preparation for his glorious future in one of the large corporations. Even then, his preference lay with Hyperion, because how sweet would it be to work for Handsome Jack, the one and only? Without fail, the fantasies always ended with Rhys as Handsome Jack’s right hand, the one everybody seeks out when they want to gain influence or are too scared to approach the man himself directly.

Staring unseeingly at the colourful Game Over screen of _Loader Bot Catcher_ , Rhys suddenly realises that those daydreams were never closer to being in his reach while yet even more impossible to achieve than ever before at the same time.

“Pandora—” Vasquez pauses, and Rhys isn’t sure if is because it’s _Pandora_ they’re talking about, the deprived planet of bandits and monsters who nearly stole Jack from them all or if it’s because Jack just put his palm on Rhys’ shoulder, and is now softly brushing his thumb against Rhys’ throat. 

Against the tattoo, and the bond mark in the middle of it.

At least for Rhys, both are equally distracting. He wants to put his own hand on top of Jack’s, to reassure him, but he’s also afraid that would make Jack realise what he’s doing and take the point of contact away again.

Coughing into his fist, Vasquez tries again. “Pandora down by 10.975% to 222m. Promethea up by 32.853% to 483m. Tantalus up by 57.008% to 502m. Thrace—”

Rhys’ head whips around to Vasquez, everything else immediately forgotten. “Wait, can you repeat that last one?”

Vasquez stares at him.

Jack stares at him.

Biting his lip, Rhys stares defiantly at the desk, and unobtrusively tabs out of the Game Over screen.

“May I continue, sir?”

Rhys very nearly snarls, halfway to sitting up before he even realises it.

Gently but firmly, Jack pushes him back down again. “You heard him,” he says quietly, attention now on Vasquez.

There’s a suffocating tension in the air, and while Rhys is unbelievably pleased Jack is taking his side, he also regrets having said anything at all.

“Tantalus up by 57.008% to 502m.” Vasquez sniffs. He looks directly as Rhys, a familiar sneer on his mouth. “Satisfied, Rhys?”

Rhys sneers right back, his fingernails digging into the yellow arm rests. “Nothing you do could never satisfy me. And those numbers are off.” He doesn’t even have to activate his palm-comp to check that; numbers are his lifeblood and the same goes for hilarious accidental boob jokes, it seems.

The silence returns, impossibly louder than before. 

If something suddenly caught on fire, Rhys would not have been surprised.

He _is_ surprised when Vasquez begins to laugh.

“Rhys, please. You are being needlessly petty here. We didn’t always agree with each other, but I thought you were better than this. These numbers come directly from Mr. Kadam.” He leans closer, sneer so wide it seems to take up most of his face. “Or are you implying his numbers are wrong?”

Rhys inhales shakily. Even though Jack is remaining a mute observer, his hand is still resting on Rhys’ shoulder, and Rhys takes strength from that. “No. But I’m implying that _your_ numbers are wrong.” He raises his right arm, palm up, and his comp flickers to life.

He’s not nearly as quick as Kadam was, but it doesn’t take him more than seven seconds to restore the recently deleted audio file from the meeting, and to jump to the appropriate time stamp.

 _“Tantalus we only recently increased by 50.0% to 470m, and Thrace saw an increase of 36.037% to 530m,”_ Kadam’s slightly off-sounding voice says, and Rhys is suddenly very embarrassed that he still hasn’t worked out how to improve the audio recording quality without building a real microphone into his arm somewhere. 

It certainly doesn’t help that Vasquez is staring at him with death in every line of his very pale face and murder screaming in his eyes.

Serkin’s voice picks up immediately; Rhys always gets rid of the pauses and white noise after the second listen, to save time and space. “ _Dynat, you’re our resident expert. Between Tantalus and Thrace, which war is Dahl betting most of their horses on?”_

_“Tantalus.”_

_“Increase SMG funding on Tantalus by another 8.008%.”_

This time, at least, Rhys doesn’t have any trouble not chuckling.

_“Go on.”_

_“And while they believe us to be encroaching on their SMG domain, we will—”_

Jack’s hand on his shoulder presses down, just once, and the alpha says, “Turn it off.”

Rhys does so immediately, and curls his hands in his lap, unsure of what to look at. Jack allows him to stay in an actual business related conversation with him once, even if just for show, and what does Rhys do? Pick a fight with Vasquez instead of keeping his damn mouth shut. 

Put like that, does it even matter that Rhys is right?

If somebody doesn’t say something soon, Rhys is going to start screaming and run straight for the elevator.

Thankfully, Vasquez cracks before Rhys has to figure out just how fast his legs can get him out of here, and to his credit, he doesn’t even try to accuse Rhys of falsifying the audio. “Sir, I apologise. There must have been an error in the transcription. I’m sure you’ll agree that is an easy enough mistake to make.”

Jack chuckles, and small shiver crawls down Rhys’ spine, not necessarily an uncomfortable one. “Oh, I agree completely. I’m just really curious to find out whose mistake it was.”

Even after swallowing several times, all Vasquez manages to squeeze out is a tight, “Sir.”

“Up you go then.” Jack claps his hands together, and Rhys misses the contact immediately. “You’ve got a transcript to fix.”

Rhys doesn’t even have to look at him to know that Jack is showing off the smile that once got him voted ‘Sexiest and Scariest Business Executive’ five times in a row by _Economics Weekly_.

“Or maybe several? Strangely enough, mistakes like these seem to always appear in bulk,” Jack adds, mock thoughtfully.

Vasquez shots up as if shocked by electricity. “I’ll see to it right away, sir, don’t worry, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Distantly, Rhys is impressed; Vasquez should have left burn marks on the floor, so fast is his exit.

The door on the other side of the office opens and closes again, and Rhys is still staring at it when Jack slides between the chair and the desk, filling Rhys’ entire view and world once more.

“4.7m.” Jack gives him an unreadable look, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Rhys blinks at him several times. “What?”

One corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up. “That’s how much Vasquez was going to embezzle this time.”

“So you don’t think it was Kadam either?” And silently, only to himself, _So you believe me?_ Before Jack can answer, Rhys boggles. “Wait, ‘this time’? He’s been doing this before? And you _knew_?” Rhys’ voice rises in pitch with each question, and he can feel his eyes widen even further.

Jack leans forward and ruffles Rhys’ hair. “Rhysie, you’re so cute it’s making my teeth ache.” He’s chuckling, though, and so Rhys doesn’t take affront with that. “Once elevated into a certain position, every little weasel tries to gnaw off slightly more than they are due. I’d be sceptical if they didn’t.”

“Okay,” Rhys says, a deep line forming on his forehead. “What?”

Shaking his head, Jack pulls him up, both hands on Rhys’ shoulders. “Let me give you the gist of it.” He steers Rhys slowly in the direction of the small bedroom. “If they don’t take anything, then it’s very likely that they are spies for one of the other big assholes and trying to attract as little attention as possible while they go about their spying business.”

Rhys lets himself be steered without resistance, still not sure what just happened, and where this is going.

“If they take too much I slap their fingers.” He hums, pleased. “Sometimes they are still able to work after I’m done, sometimes not.”

The door to the bedroom slides open, and as soon as they are in front of the bed, Jack turns him around. “If they don’t get too greedy, and don’t grate on my nerves too badly otherwise, then they are proving that I picked the best of the best.” Jack looks at him expectantly, palms very warm and sure on Rhys’ upper arms.

“The best of the best,” Rhys repeats slowly, intent on buying time, and hoping that his brain decides to cooperate soon again. 

Jack nods, a smirk tugging at his lips. He begins to unbutton Rhys’ shirt.

Finally, Rhys’ neurons decide to start firing again, and immediately his eyebrows draw together. “How much is too much?” There, a good question. Mentally, Rhys pats himself on the back.

“Good question!” Jack says, and kneels down to help Rhys out of his shoes, which is extremely distracting, but not distracting enough that Rhys forgets to preen at the praise. “It depends entirely on the person, on how useful they’ve been to me, and how much their face pisses me off in general.” He grins up at Rhys, causing him to swallow drily. “Most often I draw the line at anybody leeching off 5m in one go.” Jack stands up again, and they both ignore the sounds Jack’s knees make in protest. “Peanuts, yeah, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

 _Peanuts_. And to think, a lifetime ago, Vaughn, Yvette and Rhys were hesitant to grab a couple of hundreds and make off with them.

Rhys blows out a breath and lets the thought slip away when Jack presses them together, and only realises then that he’s half-hard, and that Jack has him well beat in that regard.

Jack growls appreciatively, makes Rhys shimmy out of his jeans and boxer shorts at the same time, and hesitantly, Rhys reaches for Jack’s vest.

But before he can get anywhere, Jack pushes him backwards, and Rhys falls onto the bed, dressed only in his socks. He’s getting mixed signals here, and decides to let Jack take the lead, at least until he’s properly gauged the mood.

Jack undresses himself quickly and efficiently before settling down next to Rhys, watching him with dark eyes the entire time.

They simply lay there for a while, facing each other and barely any space left between them, and then Jack takes Rhys’ right hand in his, just as Rhys is about to reach for Jack’s hard and almost painful looking cock, just to break this weird, quiet tension. 

Jack’s expression is still unreadable. “Whenever I think I’ve got us all figured out, you just have to go and pull something that proves me completely wrong.” His voice sounds rough, and not… not angry, exactly, but not anything close to happy either.

He doesn’t ask Rhys to stop going to the meetings or to stop recording them, and his fingers hold Rhys’ hand almost tenderly.

Rhys doesn’t offer an empty apology or an excuse for what he did. Now that he knows what he wants to do with the opportunity Jack accidentally gave him, he won’t let that be taken away from him again. 

Not even by Handsome Jack himself.

“Vasquez didn’t try take 5m in one go this time,” Rhys can’t help but point out when the thought occurs to him, idly observing while Jack tests the joints of his prosthetic.

“No, he didn’t.” Jack raises an eyebrow at him. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll agree that he’s earned himself more than three strikes anyway.”

Rhys nods, throat tight. No arguments there.

Two taps against the side of Rhys’ palm, and Rhys obediently powers up his comp, wondering why Jack doesn’t seem in any hurry to take care of his obvious arousal.

Jack considers the blue display for a moment. He leans forward then, and says against Rhys' temple, voice even deeper than before, "You up for some number crunching?"

Rhys laughs, startled, but more than eager to delve elbow-deep into dirt to dig up shit on Vasquez if that’s what Jack wants right to do now. "Oh, handsome," he purrs, mouth brushing against Jack’s cheek, "I thought you'd never ask."

Chuckling, Jack presses a soft kiss against Rhys' port. "You're a bit of a freak, babe."

 _Says the man who turned a mask into a fashion statement, and who spots an erection when somebody gets caught stealing from him_ , Rhys thinks, immensely amused. He keeps that thought to himself, however.

Jack can be very generous if you let him think that he's had the last word.

Instead of getting to work, however, Jack’s mouth lingers at the side of his face. He snorts. “I can’t believe the old hag pulled an 8008.”

Instantly and without hesitating, Rhys rolls himself on top of Jack, not caring in the slightest that his activated palm display is awkwardly glitching through Jack’s chest. He grins widely, presses his mouth eagerly against Jack’s, again and again and again. “I _knew_ you’d get it,” he manages to exhale breathlessly in between, their hips shifting against each other, messily and completely without any rhythm to it. 

There’s a big, bright bubble inside of Rhys, and it’s about to burst, and Jack looks at him equal parts confused and amused.

But Jack lets himself be touched and kissed, and places his hands just underneath Rhys’ ass, and this is perfect, and nothing will ever be able to top it.

Except when Jack becomes impatient with just humping Rhys’ hip, and flips them over with a low growl; they are both well beyond words at this point. He sucks Rhys’ cock into his mouth as if it contains every secret of the universe, as if he’s done in a hundred times before, and Rhys goes cross-eyed for a worryingly long moment, instantly at the edge and falling.

He comes embarrassingly quickly, but not before he masterfully makes himself choke on Jack’s cock, ensuring that Jack is right behind him.

After, when Jack’s arm is a heavy and sweaty weight on top of him, and Jack’s snoring into his ear, Rhys decides that the matter of Jack’s high scores will just have to wait for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more worldbuilding! next chapter: a SURPRISE (for Rhys and for you) 8)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with half of this workweek behind us, I think it's high time for the surprise!
> 
>  **edit:** now with [gorgeous](https://sinnamon-jack.tumblr.com/post/167645810247/taking-a-break-from-pokemon-to-draw-some-fanart) art by the wonderful [sinnamon-jack](http://sinnamon-jack.tumblr.com). who let these two fashion disasters dress themselves. we let them out like this.

It takes them two days to go through everything Jack deems safe for him to see and fine-tooth comb through, and while Rhys is very happy Jack is finally letting him actually _do_ something, by the end of it he just wants to sleep for a very long time. 

And preferably not hear the word budget ever again.

Rhys stretches his arm over his head, and rolls himself onto his side, to greet Sunday morning with a jaw-cracking yawn. His bedroom is fuzzy at the edges, and he blinks several times to chase the sleep from his vision.

He rubs his stomach lazily, grumbles when he spots numbers dancing over his sight. That happens sometimes, when he spends too much time in the blue world of his ECHOeye.

It was worth it, at least. They found more than enough discrepancies in Vasquez’ transcripts that Jack was stone-faced already at the end of their first dirt-digging session.

Rhys was sure Handsome Jack’s punishment would be swift and terrible, but no such luck.

He stretches his legs, unwilling to leave the warm comfort of his bed.

 _”I’ll have to make it special,”_ Jack said with a quite honestly unnerving glint in his eyes. _”He’ll be expecting it now. It’ll be even better when I let him stew for a bit while he jumps at every shadow.”_

And sure, Jack’s the unquestionable pro when it comes to creative and stomach-upsetting punishment, but Rhys can’t help but feel disappointed.

He was really looking forward to seeing Vasquez’ face through the small window of an airlock.

Sighing, he slides out from underneath his blanket to the edge of the bed and sits up. If he continues to ponder over this, his mood will be soured before this day has even properly begun.

As soon as he’s vertical, his ECHOeye informs of an urgent message in his inbox.

Rhys grins.

Maybe inspiration struck Jack in the middle of the night and Rhys’ll be able to get his wish sooner than expected.

_hmu as soon as you’re awake, we’re going to Aquator. don’t pack anything, except your cybernetic necessities._

Surprisingly, blinking several times doesn’t help Rhys any in making sense of this; ‘hmu’ looks like a nonsensical typo at best, and somehow that still manages to be the least confusing part of Jack’s message.

Rhys stands up and wanders into the bathroom, skillfully hops out of his boxer shorts on the way there while he traverses the familiar data trail to Jack’s calendar.

Somewhere to his left, he can hear Vaughn singing, enthusiastically and terribly off-key along to the _Hyperion Morning!_ jingle if Rhys isn’t mistaken.

Humming along, Rhys inspects himself in the small mirror over the sink, and he’s only slightly annoyed when the calendar blocks his complete view of himself once it’s done loading.

Huh.

Rhys’ reflection tilts its head.

There is nothing pencilled in there for today, nor the next three days. 

Four blank days.

Rhys doesn’t know what to do with that. He scratches his chin and steps into the shower.

Maybe something big came up, and Jack wants to be in the thick of it?

Nah. Underneath the spray, Rhys shakes his head, spraying water everywhere.

Even if they worked well together, Jack still seems adamant about keeping Rhys at the very edge of his business. 

Maybe another meeting with one of Jack’s ‘friends’ then? 

Rhys starts washing, conditioning and taking good and proper care of his hair. Eyes closed, he mulls this over. 

Possible, and seeing as Rhys apparently isn’t expected to bring any clothes with him to the trip that would fit right in how their meeting with Nisha went down.

Smirking, he spends some time letting his hair products work their advertised magic, thinks of nothing except of how fantastic and frightening it was to be sandwiched between the natural forces that are Jack and Nisha. When his fingers begin to prune, he turns the water off, and blindly grabs one of the mostly fresh towels from the top of the drier close by.

While it was Jack’s idea to bring Nisha and Rhys together, he’s been rather tight-lipped and quick to change the subject whenever Rhys mentions her name.

Jealousy doesn’t suit Jack except for how it really does, and Rhys can’t deny the boost it’s giving his ego.

Head held still underneath the spray, he suddenly wonders if Jack even knows that Nisha and he are still in contact. If he does, then it’s good that all Jack’s doing is being a big baby about it, and if he doesn’t know…

Rhys hums to himself.

Then that is even better.

He dries himself off, mentally makes a list of what to grab.

It’s not as long of a list as it used to be, technology steadily improving as it is, and so his cybernetic necessities now amount only to three items:

The cradle for his arm, which now works even with solar power if electricity is a problem.

Special aspirin for the headaches caused by his ECHOeye — or as Yvette likes to joke, by having more wiring in his head than actual brain matter, which might honestly be true at this point, but Rhys doesn't see why that has to mean anything.

And last but not least, eye drops for when said ECHOeye spontaneously decides that a controlled and constant supply of fluids is overrated, and having the skin of the eyelid stuck to mechanical parts is _fun_.

Back in his room Rhys rummages in his wardrobe, comes away with a tight, black pair of boxer shorts that hugs his ass very nicely.

Critically, he inspects himself in the large mirror.

What now?

While he grabs his backpack, he sends off a quick message to Jack.

_I know how much you enjoy having me naked, but I’m not going to travel anywhere dressed like I locked myself out of my apartment. Formal or casual?_

The reply comes immediately.

_you checked my calendar 41 minutes ago. lemme guess, you don’t know what hmu means and got lost in all of your hair products again._

Rhys grabs his painkillers and eye drops, frowns.

Jack’s one to talk. If Rhys raided one of his many bathroom cabinets, he’d probably be able to sell the various bottles for enough money to buy himself a small moon somewhere.

Quickly, Rhys checks the dictionary he now has to keep at handy for situations exactly like this one.

He bites his lip, and quickly goes about attaching his arm and getting the cradle tucked away into his backpack.

Well, turns out, ‘hmu’ is not a typo. Who even thought it was necessary to turn ‘hit me up’ into an abbreviation? Is ‘call me’ simply too long?

Before he can properly word a scathing reply along those lines, Jack sends another message.

_neither. Aquator means as casual as you can be without being actually naked, idiot. now get moving, and meet me in Hangar 10 C or I’ll just have to go without you._

Rhys rolls his eyes. With Jack, it’s about 60/40 if he’ll go through with his threat or not which makes it pretty difficult to take his temper tantrums seriously.

So they’re… going on a vacation? Couldn’t he just _say so_? Rhys is about to ask Jack exactly that, just a lot more passive-aggressively and also judgmental, when he gets another message from Jack.

 _less needless back-talk, more moving or I_ will _be enjoying the beach without you._

Alright, maybe 70/30 in this case.

Rhys quickly grabs his most frayed pair of jeans shorts, and slips into a white shirt with ‘1337’ written in stark black letters on the front.

Short yellow socks with small palm trees on it, airy shoes and he’s ready to roll.

Backpack slung over his shoulder, he drops by the kitchen. 

Vaughn’s still singing along to some Helios pop, using the spatula as his mic. He’s also making delicious looking pancakes that Rhys will sadly never be able to get to know more closely. 

Dancing over in sync with the happy beat, Rhys hugs him from behind and presses and quick kiss against his hair. “Jack’s kidnapping me away for a vacation, I’ll probably be back by Wednesday, please let Yvette know, I love you guys, and don’t worry!”

“Wha- Rhys!”

He’s bouncing off in the direction of the door before Vaughn can even fully turn around.

If he hurries, he could make it to hanger 10 C in 12 to 18 minutes, but depending on where Jack was when he sent his last message that means next to nothing. 

He takes one step outside—

And turns right back around.

“And hands off my secret sweets stash, I have security measures in place and I _will_ know if you took something!”

Rhys is pretty sure Vaughn flips him off in reply, but if he pretends not to have seen it then he won’t have to deign it with a reply.

He loves his friends, but his sweets are where he draws the line.

* * *

Most of Helios is either still in bed or hasn’t yet left work in the first place, so only a couple of people are witness to his pathetic attempt at jogging.

The closer he comes to hanger 10 C, the more deserted the hallways seem. If it wasn’t for all the robots around, the simple and almost barren grey walls would be enough to make Rhys twitchy, but all of that also makes it fairly obvious that 10 C is Handsome Jack’s personal hanger.

Which means there are probably few areas on Helios that are safer, and Rhys wonders just how many turrets are hidden behind all that inconspicuous paneling. He really needs to worm his way into the system controls for them, with or without Jack’s permission, but that’s probably a thought for when he’s not currently running on a timer.

Robots don’t need any heating to be comfortable, and by the time Rhys finally sees the big white 10 C in front of him, he’s more than ready for that glorious vacation sun. His nipples are also stupidly visibly through the shirt. Frowning, Rhys thinks it might not have been the best choice after all.

Obviously he does not in fact arrive before Jack, and he would swear on his pristine Handsome Jack trading card set that Jack is making the Loader Bots do a conga line when he enters the relatively small hanger.

No, he doesn’t ask. Rhys learned this lesson a long time ago: Don’t ask questions when you aren’t sure you can handle the answer.

Now that he knows Jack was just bullshitting with his threat, Rhys is right back to feeling exasperated.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate this spontaneous trip, but against my better judgement I have actually listened to you and really haven’t packed anything.”

Jack sends the Loader Bots away with exaggerated shoo-shoo motions. He turns around to Rhys, looks him up and down.

“Cute,” his mouth says, but the raised eyebrow and smile clearly say _loser_.

Seeing as Jack is wearing an eye-wateringly bright green T-shirt with Ananas on it, brown khaki pants that only go to his knees and show off his hairy legs, and his dad sneakers, because apparently he doesn’t have another pair of shoes, Rhys merely raises an eyebrow right back at him.

To anybody with eyes it’s painfully obvious who the real loser is.

Shaking his head, almost fondly, Jack throws his arm around Rhys’ shoulders, and steers them towards and into the shuttle, a sleek yellow thing with sharply drawn silver highlights. “Baby, do you even know who you’re talking to?”

Rhys can’t help himself, even while eyeing the cozy looking black seating area to his right. “No, sorry, I’m new here,” he says distractedly. There’s a small compartment at the front that is probably for the pilot, and another really small corridor to their left with three doors leading off from it. Toilet, and… a bedroom, maybe? But what else?

Predictably, Jack pretends not to have heard him. “You so much as look at it, and—” He snaps his fingers. “It’s yours.” He draws Rhys down onto the seating corner with him.

Jack’s tendency to indulge himself in careless displays of extravagance is _not_ attractive, and if Rhys just keeps telling himself that then it’ll have to work at some point, right? 

The way the material practically melts to embrace Rhys seems to point to a decisive no.

From somewhere inside of his jacket Jack pulls out his PDA, and with his feet propped up in the table, he waves his hand in the general direction of the waiting attendant that Rhys swears wasn’t there a second ago.

His grey and white get up must have functioned as some sort of camouflage. Or maybe he simply came from one of the closed doors.

“Something alcoholic for me and…”

“And a soda, please.”

Jack sends him a look.

Rhys crosses his arms in front of him chest. “So far this day hasn’t gotten so bad yet that I need to smooth it out with alcohol.”

Raising his hands appeasingly, Jack’s arm comes back around his shoulders. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Sure.” Rhys snorts.

But then he feels the slightest shift underneath him, and his eyes become glued the the window pane behind them.

There’s a common saying in the lower parts of Helios.

You only see Helios in its entire glory twice. Once when you arrive, full of hope and dreams.

And then again in the last seconds you have, right before you die.

The bitterness of the words fade away in the face of the massive and imposing _H_ towering in the atmosphere.

He knows Jack is watching him out of the corner of his eyes even while he pretends to be fiddling with his PDA, but for the life of him Rhys can’t stop, and doesn’t want to stop, his awed staring.

It’s weird that this never occurred to him before, just how glorious the structure that cradles their existences is. Maybe he needs more pictures of Helios on his wall.

His stomach growls loudly.

Jack chuckles. “No breakfast?”

Rubbing the back of his head, Rhys mumbles, “Got called away before I got to that.”

“I’m sure there’s something that can be done about that,” Jack says, just loud enough to make it obvious that he’s demanding attention immediately.

The attendant is back at their table faster than should be humanly possible, their drinks in his hands and a fancy menu tucked under one arm. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

Well, that reveals the secret hiding behind door number three. A kitchen. 

Jack takes both of their glasses, waving the menu and attendant away. “Just get us a little of everything.” 

A ridiculously well stocked kitchen, apparently.

Jack takes a long gulp of his clear drink, and takes Rhys glass before he can do the same. “And get us some water or tea as well. No, just make that both.”

He shakes his head at Rhys. “Soda is not something you drink for breakfast, Rhysie.”

Rhys boggles. “Jack, I can feel myself getting drunk from the _smell_ of whatever is inside of your glass alone.”

Grinning widely, Jack presses his mouth against, and then his tongue inside of Rhys’ mouth, as if to prove Rhys’ point.

When they part, Rhys is smacking his lips, frowning.

Entirely too smugly, Jack says, “Well, this isn’t _my_ breakfast.”

Does that even count as an argument if Jack just probably didn’t grab any sleep between yesterday and today?

Deciding that this is a question for later, Rhys leans in again, intent on sucking the awful taste off of Jack’s lips, for no better reason than that he can.

Plus, he needs something to do before his breakfast arrives, doesn’t he?

* * *

The landing port is nothing more than a barren stretch of earth surrounded by greenery with a wooden hut next to it, and a sprawling village close by.

Theirs is the only shuttle around, and as soon as they step out of it there are immediately three people in loose and colourful clothing who cheerfully await Jack’s orders.

Rhys doesn’t really listen to whatever Jack tells them, because there are real palm trees all around him, and the gentle sound of the sea coming from close by, so close he can almost taste it.

Simulations are getting better and better, but there’s one thing they aren’t even close yet to capturing in its singular experience: the smell of the sea, of vastness and _freedom_.

He’s never been to a real beach before, and he rolls to the balls of his feet and back onto his toes, eager to go there immediately, spurred on further by the cries of what must be seagulls.

 _Or roll there_ , he thinks wryly, the hand not holding his backpack going to his stomach. Jack was long done with their breakfast spread while Rhys was still busy first trying, and then making a good effort at demolishing every known and unknown part of it under a raised and totally judging eyebrow from Jack.

It was just so good, from the fluffy croissants that were still warm, to the colourful and juicy fruit pieces that practically exploded in his mouth in a detonation of taste, to the thick, golden pancakes that were just as good as Vaughn’s, maybe even better. Not that Rhys will ever tell him that.

Too excited to remain standing still for much longer while Jack is basically listening to the sound of his own voice, Rhys takes one step in the general direction of the beach, intent on seeing it with his own eyes for the first time, but Jack there’s in the next instant, his left hand sliding into one of Rhys’ back pockets as if it belongs there.

“Not like I wasn’t done anyway, but somebody’s impatient.”

Turning his head, Rhys grins at him, doesn’t even mind that Jack is steering him once more, even if it’s in the direction of the village. Then he narrows his eyes.

There’s a backpack slung over Jack’s shoulder.

He doesn’t remember seeing it before, so Jack must already have stashed it in the shuttle when Rhys arrived. Leaving Rhys thinking he hadn’t packed anything, either?

“You told me not to bring anything but my cybernetic necessities!” Rhys accuses.

Jack grins, the fingers of his left hand poking Rhys’ ass through the thin denim. “I have necessities as well, you know?”

“Let me guess.” Rhys sighs. “Your PDA and yet more work?”

“See, Rhysie. I knew you’d be getting it eventually.” He nudges his hip against Rhys’. “A vacation doesn’t mean Handsome Jack isn’t needed.” 

If Rhys is being honest, he isn’t even surprised. Impromptu vacation or not, Jack’s still, and will always be, Jack.

He makes a conscious effort to let it go, and instead forces his attention on the outskirts of the village ahead, close enough now that he can make out the details of the houses.

They are all made almost exclusively out of wood with some metal parts stuck here and there; colourful with no sense or reason to it, at least not one Rhys can figure out. Some of the houses lean into one direction, others bend into another, as if they’d been built higher than first anticipated, and there are big signs everywhere, eye-catching even though they are not powered by electricity in any way. 

The path weaving ahead of them is made out of solid stone with large motifs laid into it: there are suns, and moons, and seashells, bright and obviously etched into the stones with much care.

Rhys almost trips with the effort of not directly stepping on them, and Jack snorts. “Could you be any more of a tourist?”

“Not like I would know,” Rhys says distractedly, attention focused on the offerings of the first shop they pass. Large and small bottles, filled with either perfume or alcohol, Rhys isn’t really sure.

The shopkeeper, a green-skinned, heavy-set alien waves at them enthusiastically, and Rhys instantly feels bad for not buying anything, which is probably the intended reaction.

From somewhere, quiet music joins the sounds of the waves, and suddenly Rhys realises how _silent_ everything is.

Jack included.

He glances to his side, but Jack’s not looking at the scenery, focused entirely on Rhys.

“So.” Rhys scratches the side of his neck. “I mean, I know Aquator is pretty much _the_ tourist hot spot…” He’s spend a lot of time staring at advertisements and imagining himself in place of one of the attractive models beaming at him, he should know. 

Rhys vaguely waves at the path and the shops around them, completely deserted apart from the owners and themselves. “Are we outside tourist season right now?” He’s pretty sure he’s way off mark with that assumption, because with the clear blue sky, the warm and just slightly humid air surrounding him right now, he’d be hard pressed to visualise more perfect conditions to spend time here.

With another almost loving poke to his ass, Jack moves his arm around Rhys’ shoulder instead. “I should have realised you were too busy attacking our breakfast spread to notice the hundreds of shuttles and ships we passed on our way down here.”

Pursing his lips, Rhys decides that he’ll not let himself be shamed for having a healthy appetite.

“Hey.” Gently, Jack knocks his head against Rhys’. “I’m about to impart essential knowledge on you here, pay attention.”

They stop in the shadow of one of the shops, next to some sort of a bush with white blossoms.

“On Aquator, there are tourist hot spots, and then there are _tourist hot spots_.”

With the way Jack’s meaningfully waggling his eyebrows, Rhys doesn’t have to imagine the asterisks around the last part of that sentence. Pity that doesn’t help him figure out what the hell Jack’s talking about.

“Rhysie.” Laughing, Jack shakes his head, and then gestures flashily around them. “For the next couple of days, this lovely place called Enux is exclusively ours.” He taps his chin, thoughtful. “And I think the next... two towns over as well?” He grins, shakes Rhys’ shoulder. “In case we feel like venturing out.”

Rhys opens his mouth, stares.

Grinning with smug self-satisfaction, Jack leans in and presses his own lips against Rhys’, licks into his mouth with great gusto, loud and wetly enough that Rhys is bright red when they part. “Your dumbstruck amazement already made it worth it.”

When it becomes obvious that Rhys still doesn’t know what to say to that revelation, Jack tugs at him, and they start moving again. Jack makes a content noise, says quietly, probably to himself, “It’s good to be king.”

Rhys would agree, but apparently his brain is currently rebooting in the hopes of being able to process this information after.

Jack’s whistling along to the music in the distance, extremely pleased, while Rhys is busy staring at the stone-pictures they’re walking over without really seeing them.

Now is _really_ not an appropriate time to be spotting a boner, he tells himself sternly.

He’s still in a battle of wills against his own body when Jack stops in front of one of the shops, eyes on the postcards displayed there. 

“What do you say, how about we send Nisha one?” Jack’s already making a grab for one of them, so Rhys decides that’s probably a rhetorical question. He cackles. “This one’s perfect.”

A fat skag in a hammock, tongue lolling out, the backdrop a pretty beach. _Don’t wish you were here!_ , is written in garishly yellow letters at the top.

Rhys shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “Only if you don’t expect me to sign that.” When it comes to Nisha, Jack can be such a child.

“You’re no fun,” Jack laments, putting it back, which means he wasn’t serious about buying it anyway.

He’s in the process of leaving, but Rhys tugs him right back with his right arm.

Next to the postcards is a display with sunglasses, in all variations and colours, and Rhys falls instantly in love. He balances his backpack more securely onto his shoulder, and grabs two pairs of the same design, holding one out to Jack expectantly.

“Seriously?” Jack eyes the glaringly pink and heart-shaped sunglasses as if they’ve personally offended him.

Snorting, Rhys looks to the side. “Oh, I see how it is. You can buy out a couple of popular places, but you draw the line at wearing a pair of cute sunglasses with your-” He pauses, licks his lips for a moment longer than strictly necessary. “With me.”

Jack growls, steps right into Rhys’ personal space and claims Rhys’ mouth again, so quickly Rhys has to be careful the sunglasses don’t get crushed between their bodies.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Jack says against Rhys’ wet lips.

But he’s grinning and takes the sunglasses from Rhys before strolling towards the carefully busy looking shopkeeper at the cash register, so Rhys is pretty sure they’re good.

He uses the moment to find his footing again, figuratively. It’s not that he ever forgets who and what Jack is; Jack’s entire demeanor makes that impossible. Only when it becomes obvious that their lives and experiences couldn’t be more different is Rhys forced to mentally adjust his worldview to roll with what Jack throws his way.

Feeling more like himself again, Rhys checks in on Jack out of the corner of his eye, just to make sure that Jack actually pays and doesn’t just posture threateningly until the shopkeeper doubles over.

Thankfully he does pay, with a practiced flick of the wrist and a flashy black card, and then comes back to Rhys, still grinning. He hands one now tagless pair back to Rhys. “There you go.” Jack slides his own sunglasses onto his nose, the movement fluid and almost regal.

Considering his get up, he now looks just as ridiculous as Rhys hoped and expected, and Rhys can’t help himself. He leans in and presses his lips against the small scar of the bond mark on the side of Jack’s throat, purrs, “Looking good, handsome.”

“Of course I do.” Jack’s arm curls warmly around his shoulder, and they leave the shop. “There’s nothing I don’t make look good.”

Rhys smiles to himself, hums something that Jack can take as agreement, and lodges his left thumb cheekily into the waistband of Jack’s khakis. “Never doubted it.” He glances at Jack, unsure about how to best approach this without ruining Jack’s mood. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

Jack raises an eyebrow at him, which probably doesn’t bode well.

“Are they going to be in financial trouble because of us?” The longer they stay here the harder it is to ignore how empty the place is, apart from a couple of people here and there who walk with purpose and probably either live or work here. If what Jack said earlier is true, then this might be the busiest season on Aquator, and here they are, ruining it for an entire area.

“Oh, Rhys.” Jack beings to chuckle, the sound building steadily until it morphs into thunderous laughter. He nearly doubles over, and they slow.

Suddenly, Rhys is relieved that almost nobody is around to see his reddened ears.

“You’re so adorable it’s giving me cavities by proxy. With how much I'm paying them to hang around in case we need them, they'll probably wish our vacation would just never end!" Jack ruffles his hair, undoing almost an hour of careful styling and care, and presses Rhys closer against his side. Laughter is still ringing true in his voice when he says, “Seriously, stop worrying over inconsequential things and just enjoy the vacation.”

For once, Rhys decides to listen to him, even though he isn’t really sure how existential fear can possibly be described as inconsequential. Probably if you’re Handsome Jack, and estimated to be richer than the two major rival CEOs ranked beneath you combined. With a helpless shrug, Rhys decides to enjoy himself fully.

They walk the promenade in comfortable silence; Rhys is too distracted for his usual witty banter anyway.

There’s just so much to _see_. His ECHOeye can barely keep up with the scanning requests he sends its way. What kind of seashell is that? What’s that delicious looking food called? What kind of instrument is that over there? Which planet does that person come from, and is the luminescent purple skin normal?

He’s always been aware that the known universes had a lot more to offer than he’ll ever see on Helios, but distantly being aware of something and directly being confronted with it are two very different things. If they don’t take a break soon, Rhys might end up with a kink in his neck, but right now that seems like a very small price to pay.

Jack’s practically exuding amusement at Rhys’ awe and curiosity, but thankfully he spares Rhys any more jabs at his ego.

After over an hour, it’s his throat that complains louder than his head; he turns his ECHOeye off, hoping to ease the headache somewhat. 

One whiny, slightly exaggerated _I’m thirsty_ later, and Jack is already handing him a brightly orange drink with a looped straw in it. Honestly, Rhys could get used to this. He downs two of his painkillers, lets the fruity and fresh taste wash away their chemical one.

“We’re almost at the place. Just a short trip over the beach, and we can rest a for a while.” Jack pokes Rhys’ nose, grinning wryly, his sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt. “And get you some sunscreen, because damn, I severely underestimated how soft you are.”

“What? I’m not soft.” Scowling, Rhys touches his nose with two fingers. Then he winces, remembering long summer evenings spent with Vaughn outside, stupidly dozing away the last remnants of a party. “Shit, am I already getting a sunburn?” He tried sticking to the shadows of the high aching houses, but with the sun up high and his attention mostly somewhere else, it wouldn’t surprise him.

“Not yet, but you’re definitely getting there.” 

“Shit,” Rhys says, with feeling. Sunburns are not fun, and pretty disgusting, what with all the flaking skin. Critically, he eyes Jack’s face, free from any hint of red, which seems extremely unfair. Jack’s skin is darker than his own, sure, but not nearly as dark as Nisha’s, so if that is a deciding factor in this, then Rhys is calling foul.

Jack flicks his nose, as if reading his thoughts. “I wouldn’t look any different than you right now, but I had the foresight to use sunscreen before going on a vacation.”

Rhys takes a very long, excessively loud slurp from his drink before he answers. “Yeah, well sorry for not being adequately prepared on my _very first one_.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then Jack’s eyes flicker to the side, back to Rhys immediately. “It’s been… I usually travel alone.”

That’s… not even close to an apology. It’s an explanation, really, one that reveals more than Jack usually lets on, Rhys thinks. 

Is he really the first one Jack has taken with him on a trip in a long time? Who did Jack used to go on vacations with? Nisha? Somebody else? Did Jack simply pick somebody up locally to have fun with? Rhys has no illusions that Jack would stay alone for very long if he wanted company. 

So many questions, so little chance of getting even a single answer to them any time soon.

Rhys inhales deeply, chews on his straw. “Okay.” The right corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “Guess we’re both new to this.”

“Guess so,” Jack says quietly, and his palm strokes over the side of Rhys’ throat, lingers. Abruptly, he hands Rhys his decidedly empty drink. “Gimme a sec.”

Rhys blinks at Jack’s retreating back, then inspects the shop sign above them. What’s Jack buying clothes for now? He sucks up the last delicious drops of his drink, wondering, before dumping both of the empty containers in a seashell-formed dumpster nearby.

The shop is fairly dark and filled up with clothing racks, so Rhys quickly loses interest in trying to spot what Jack’s doing in there. Instead, he walks along the promenade for couple of steps, reaching the end of it and finally, finally catches his first glimpse of the ocean. With fumbling fingers, he takes off his sunglasses.

There’s _so much of it_ , and Rhys distantly realises that this is a fairly stupid realisation, but the pictures and ECHOs never conveyed that it really stretches over the entire horizon. If he squints, he can make out a couple of islands in the distance, but everything else is sand and water, and a couple of palm trees here and there.

“Wow.” Rhys breathes in deeply, unable to stop grinning. He doesn’t just run down to the waves, even though he really wants to, because he’s pretty sure Jack wouldn’t appreciate if he was suddenly gone. Plus this is their vacation, and for them to discover together. 

Still, later, when his head isn’t thudding away in familiar, dull pain, he needs to record the ocean from up close, to share with Vaughn and Yvette once he’s back.

“There you are.” Jack stops at his side, a huge strawhat with a gigantic red ribbon around the top of it in his hand.

Rhys is instantly smitten. “You’re the best,” he tells the strawhat earnestly, taking it from Jack with careful fingers. It’s heavy, sinks down far enough to cover his forehead, and presses his sweaty hair against his skin, and between the two of them, he’s now definitely the more ridiculous looking one.

He couldn’t care less.

“Don’t I know it.” Jack hums. “Now let’s make the last stretch of the way down at the ocean before you ditch me here.” He steps closer to Rhys, one corner of his mouth curved up.

Stops, and with a chuckle adjusts the strawhat so it sits slightly askew on Rhys’ head, and doesn’t accidentally poke out one of Jack’s eyes while they walk.

“Don’t worry, as long as you carry that beautiful black card, you’re stuck with me,” Rhys says earnestly, smiling widely.

Jack snorts. “Thanks for the warning. Makes me glad I’ve got a tracker on it.” He reaches for his shoes, and Rhys does the same, and after they’ve hazwardly thrown their socks into their backpacks, their shoes fastened to the side of them, they finally make for the beach.

Pretty much instantly Rhys comes to a realisation.

Walking on sand is _weird_ , and more difficult than it probably needs to be.

And if Jack won’t stop laughing at him, Rhys is going to tackle him into the sand, consequences be damned.

“By all that is shiny and chromed, please watch how I’m handling my balance right now before _I_ have to ditch _you_ or risk becoming a laughing stock around here.”

Rhys does so, but not without muttering something extremely foul and unbecoming under his breath. It doesn’t ease the unsettling feeling of the ground giving way under his feet, but it does helps against sinking into the sand, which is so bright that it almost hurts to look at. He tilts his head. “I’m no specialist, obviously, but shouldn’t the sand be… I don’t know, really hot?”

Jack throws him a quick look over his shoulder. “Yep, and it would be if it wasn’t a special mixture.” A flash of a sharp grin. “What good is planet that is basically all beach if the tourists can’t use it because their sensitive little feet can’t handle the sand?”

Yeah, that might have caused problems. Rhys certainly wouldn’t have enjoyed hopping all the way over it. “Cool.” 

They reach the edge of the water, where the waves have darkened and hardened the sand, making the seashells that are strewn around more obvious, and finally Rhys feels confident in his footing enough to look ahead once more.

“ _Cool_ ,” Jack echoes him, mockingly, but Rhys doesn’t have it in himself push him into the waves.

Instead, he checks his systems, suddenly convinced his ECHOeye activated on its own.

The ocean is _so blue_.

“It’s beautiful,” Rhys says, softly, voice thicker than he anticipated. He coughs slightly, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

But apparently Jack’s had enough of making fun of him for a day. “It is.” He places one of his hands on Rhys’ hip, and they stand there for a while, simply letting the warm water wash over their feet.

Rhys doesn’t know how long they stay like this, in this pocket of the world where there is only the two of them, and no outside forces that could disturb them. Here, time is meaningless.

At least until Rhys’ stomach growls.

“Come on,” Jack says quietly. “We’ll be there soon. Let’s get moving and some food into you.”

Not so easily swayed this time, Rhys resists Jack’s gentle pull.

Another chuckle, entirely fond this time. “I promise you the ocean will still be here later.”

 _Promise_? Rhys bites his bottom lip hard, well aware of how ridiculous he’s being. He looks at Jack haughtily, but the twitch to his lips probably ruins the picture slightly. “I’ll hold you personally responsible if it’s not.”

Snorting, Jack nods his head. “Of course, your majesty.” He slaps Rhys ass, and Rhys laughs instead of yelping, having fully expected that. “And now get moving, I yearn for a climatised place to make myself comfortable in.”

When he wants to, Jack can actually deliver proper arguments for his case.

Grinning, Rhys lets himself be tugged in the direction of the single, flat bungalow in the distance, nestled against the side of a steep cliff.

Who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! the honeymoon fic nobody was asking for but everybody will hopefully enjoy anyway 8)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's now wonderful art linked in the notes of the previous chapter, please check it out!
> 
> and I hope you are having a lovely Sunday (or a lovely day in general, depending on when you're reading this)!

Jack’s _soon_ turns into another _much later_ , but for once it’s actually not Jack’s fault.

It’s not really Rhys’ fault either, because how was he supposed to know that seashells came in so many curious shapes and colours? This beach trip should have come with a cautionary pamphlet, honestly.

Rhys bends down, carefully picking up another one with his right hand. His cybernetic palm is already full with seashells, but stable enough that Rhys doesn’t have to worry about losing any of them. Random twitches, now that’s another matter of course, but thankfully that hasn’t been a problem for a couple of years.

Wouldn’t you know it, keeping your internal sensors clean _does_ help.

They manage a whole lot of five steps before Rhys gets distracted by another shiny shimmer in the waves, and this time Jack’s groan is not subtle in the least. “Please, I just want to get to the Toe before nightfall.”

Rhys blinks, actually distracted away from his hunt, and turns around. “The what now?”

Jack grunts, kicks at the sand. “That’s the name of the place we’re gonna stay at. The Devil’s Toe.”

“Why is it called that?” If the place is haunted, Rhys will simply sleep outside on the beach, thank you very much.

Silence. 

Jack stares off into the waves for long enough that Rhys begins to wonder if he was somehow supposed to know the origins of the name before he even learned of the place.

Finally, Jack nods towards the cliffs ahead, voice weirdly muted and distant. “The mountain is called Devil. The bungalow was built at the foot of it. Ergo, The Devil’s Toe.”

Rhys smiles. Hopefully not haunted, then. “Pretty cool.”

Jack shrugs, gaze still far away. Then he visibly shakes himself, previous stupor forgotten and back to complaining just like that. “Please stop picking up junk. It’s been _hours_ , and we’ve barely made any progress.” Jack inhales deeply, adds another level of whine to his voice. “Why do you deny me my creature comforts so cruelly?”

Alright, Rhys totally accidentally struck a nerve there, but of course Jack can’t simply explain why something as simple as explaining a name set him off, that would be entirely too much to ask.

Snorting, Rhys holds the stone up high, lets the sun shine through it. It’s really nice, how it doesn’t even take any effort anymore to ignore Jack’s antics once you’ve endured them often enough. Not as nice as the stone, of course, and he says cheerfully, “This one’s blue and kinda translucent!”

Jack’s heavy sigh follows him all the way over. “You do realise that’s simply glass from a broken bottle that’s been smoothed out by the water, right?”

Blinking, Rhys inspects the stone more closely, but without the help of his ECHOeye, because he isn’t going to tempt the headache to make another appearance so soon. Sadly, Jack’s right; the colour is too even, and it doesn’t have any weight to it. 

Still, it’s pretty.

He turns around and carefully adds it to the seashells and stones already piled up high in Jack’s cupped hands. Rhys would have put them into his backpack, but that’s basically just asking for them to end up in pieces.

A dark look is all that gets him, and Rhys smiles. “I’ve always liked how big your hands are,” he says, gently touching the back of Jack’s right hand.

The answering grin on Jack’s mouth is instantaneous. “Oh, I know. Especially when they’re knuckle deep up your—” His grin morphs into a scowl. “Your distraction attempts are as transparent as badly forged diamonds.”

Laughing, Rhys leans in close, mindful of his strawhat, and presses a kiss against the clasp on Jack’s chin, then on Jack’s lips, slow and deep, because he’s pretty sure Jack’s about to open his palms and let Rhys’ collection fall into the sand, and that won’t do at all. “I’m bet there’s a nice bed waiting for us there as well.” He strokes over Jack’s fingers meaningfully.

Jack looks at him through narrowed eyes for a long moment, and Rhys wonders if he’s pushed too far. The left corner of Jack’s mouth twitches up. “I’m serious, my knees are killing me. No more delays, and I won’t drop this junk. Deal?”

Humming, Rhys bites Jack’s bottom lip. “Deal.”

He can always come back for more later.

* * *

The bungalow sits right between the cliffs and the ocean, almost half of the bungalow raised up on stilts over it. Where the town had been bright colours and towering shapes, the bungalow is all white wood, with a flat roof, and huge glass front and veranda facing towards and stretching out over the sea. Big lampions are placed between the windows, and Rhys is already looking forward to seeing the place during the evening.

Jack climbs the wide stairs leading up to the open door with a heavy gait, groaning pitifully.

Rhys doesn’t feel bad. 

Another sad groan.

Okay, maybe a little bit, especially with the weird mood that overcame Jack earlier. 

Considering the wealth of information contained in the heroic documentaries, Jack made it very clear that his personal past was a no go, and no amount of demure eyelashes batting and wheedling on Rhys’ part was able to change that so far. 

The thing is, for more than half of his life, Rhys lived and breathed these heroic documentaries. He knows Handsome Jack’s entire history inside out, from his lowly beginnings to his actually universe-changing rise to the top. All achieved entirely on his own, with only his clever manoeuvring of some no-name bandits, and a nose for something grand that turned out to be nothing less than the game-changing, all powerful Eridium. Maybe a few notes are exaggerated here and there in Handsome Jack’s favour, but it can’t all be way off the mark, right? Rhys feels pretty confident in that.

But Jack, Jack is an entirely different story. Rhys has learned to collect and appreciate the little bits and pieces he gets to learn about him, and is usually good at not stepping onto Jack’s toes, figuratively speaking.

Here, apparently, the lines are blurred and Rhys has to be even more careful with what he does.

So he doesn’t say anything when Jack empties his hands uncaringly over the blue couch, letting the stones and seashells fall, and curiously eyes the big open room instead while he takes off his strawhat and places it on top of a nearby cabinet

The furniture is fittingly made of white wood as well, and wincing, Rhys realises they are leaving sand all over the soft grey carpet. A seating area, a big screen, shelves, an open kitchen, a—

“It’s a pleasure to welcome you again, sir,” a pleasant voice says, and Rhys does not jump out of his skin, but it’s a very close thing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack strides right through the large room, past the woman who just greeted them and towards the corridor ahead, barefooted and completely headless of the sandy track he leaves in his wake. “If anybody needs me, I’m at the hopefully well stocked bar.”

Once inside of the corridor, though, he stops abruptly, and softly closes the door to his left without actually looking at it before walking on, and leaving Rhys’ field of vision.

Rhys watches him go, wondering, and then turns his attention to the woman.

Fairly short, black hair and probably well into her sixties, she’s wearing a yellow dress, and eyeing Rhys just as curiously. 

“Um, hi.” Yeah, okay, that wasn’t exactly smooth. “I’m Rhys, nice to meet you.” Paid extremely well or not, between him and Jack at least _somebody_ has to be nice to the people around them. 

She bows slightly, deep laughter lines deepening at the side of her smiling mouth.

“My name is Tillia Aurera Xin, and it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

There is a distant, loud, and almost sexual groan from Jack. “Finally.”

Smiling awkwardly, Rhys scratches the back of his neck.

The amusement is mirrored on Xin’s face. “Please, make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? You must be thirsty as well after the long walk here.” Without waiting for an answer she turns around, and opens the freezer in the kitchenette. “Do you like juice? There is nothing like our house-made Panaga mix.”

“Sure.” Slightly overwhelmed, Rhys sits down next to the pile of his tiny treasures, carefully adds the ones he’d been carrying to it.

Xin hands him a glass filled with thick purple juice before he can even blink twice. “I offered him our hover-car service but he declined.” She winks at Rhys conspiratorially. “It’s been so long, I think he forgot how much he hated actually walking here.” 

Going by the unassuming but pleasant smell, she’s a beta. Laughing, Rhys takes a sip, followed by two more in quick succession. “It’s delicious, thank you.” Xin’s still smiling brightly at him, silent, and Rhys fidgets. “Sorry for keeping you waiting here for us? We... got distracted on the way here.” Again, _not_ Rhys’ fault.

She startles, and shakes her head quickly. “Oh, no, it’s quite alright! It’s all part of the service, as it’s always been.” The smile turns sheepish. “I forgot myself. It’s been so many years since he came here, I was afraid he’d forgotten all about the Toe.”

Rhys takes another sip. “It’s a gorgeous place,” he says, as casual as he can manage. “This was a surprise trip for me, so we didn’t really get to talk about it beforehand. Did he used to visit here often? Probably not alone, right?”

It seems to have been convincing enough, because Xin simply nods. “Four or five times every year.” Rhys hadn’t thought it possible before, but her expression brightens even further. “And always with such a lovely little girl. Cute as a button, and so polite!”

Rhys feels his eyes widen. He quickly closes them, hopefully masking his surprise by taking another deep swallow of juice. “They must have really loved spending time here.”

A little girl.

Niece, granddaughter, daughter… or something else? He remembers Nisha’s sharp comment, all those months ago, _does he even know about_ her _?_ , and the dangerous glint in Jack’s eyes when he’d shut her down immediately.

And all this time Rhys thought they were talking about an old flame he’d have to measure up against. Does this revelation make him feel better or worse? He rubs his palms on his thighs, bites his lip; it has definitely made him even more curious.

Thankfully, Xin doesn’t seem to have noticed just how much her words have rattled him. “I like to think so.” Suddenly, her face turns solemn, her voice quiet. “They didn’t visit for a very long time, and then he came alone. Curiosity got the better of me and I asked about her.” She clicks her tongue at herself. “I really shouldn’t have. He left immediately, and did not come back.” Xin blinks several times, and apparently notices the gloomy atmosphere. She claps her hands, smile back on her face. “Until now that is! How are you liking Enux so far?”

“Oh, it’s… a lot to take in.” And that’s putting it mildly. “Very beautiful.” He manages something like an abashed twitch of his lips. “I’ve actually never been to the beach before.”

She seems genuinely shocked by this, but recovers quickly. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay in The Devil’s Toe even more, in that case. It’s close to the town but still relatively quiet, especially with the private beach out back. Perfect place for some family bonding, and…” Her eyes crinkle. “And other kinds of bonding.”

Even if his thoughts are far, far away right now, he can still feel himself blush. At least he doesn’t have to wonder if she knows how Jack and he stand to each other. Rhys scratches the side of his neck, stops instantly when he notices what he’s doing.

How can he grill her for more information without giving away just how terribly clueless he really is? _So this little girl… you don’t happen to know how exactly she’s related to Jack?_ Yeah, no. _Of course, her, he told me all about his…_ And then maybe trail off hopefully and wait for her to fill in the blanks?

Meanwhile, Xin is amusedly eyeing the not so small pile of seashells and stones on the couch.

Shit, should Rhys apologise for dirtying the upholstery? And for leaving sand all over the place? He unobtrusively pats the couch with his left hand. It doesn’t look brand new, but still very expensive. Inside, he whines to himself. Why didn’t Jack tell him about how beach etiquette works?

“I remember there actually being food to go with the drinks!” Considering who he is, Jack, of course, doesn’t have any problems making himself heard, even from a couple of rooms away.

There’s a pause, just long enough for the wave of secondhand embarrassment to wash over Rhys properly.

“And that I actually came with company!”

Jack is such a _child_ ; he’s truly turned passive-aggressiveness into an art form.

Rhys and Xin share a long look.

He wants to throw himself at Xin’s feet and beg her to tell him everything she knows, appearances be damned, before Jack shuts down this source of information as well. Instead he grins, sets his glass onto one of the blue round coasters on the table. “Sorry for keeping you.” Rhys winks at her, adds more quietly, “Sound like somebody needs attention.”

“I think I must be the one to apologise for keeping you. Dinner will be here post-haste. Any preferences?” There’s definitely an answering twinkle of mirth in her eyes. “I do remember what he used to enjoy, but I don’t want to risk upsetting him further.”

“Don’t worry. A little bit of everything you can cook up quickly will be fine.” Sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with taking a page out of Jack’s book.

“Of course.” She nods her head in thanks, and returns to the kitchenette with another smile sent his way.

Rhys feels a bit weird about not even offering her a helping hand, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate that, and he’d probably only manage to get in the way.

Not wanting for Jack to think that his stupid behaviour will be rewarded, Rhys makes sure to take his sweet time, first inspecting the paintings on the walls — artistic but tasteful pictures of sea life and marine landscapes — and then the ECHO selection on the shelves — a bit of everything for everyone, in case they somehow get bored by the fantastic views to be seen outside.

The corridor stretches quite a ways in, and Rhys mentally corrects the mental map he’d been drawing of the place. The first room on his right is a gorgeous bedroom with a large, mirrored wardrobe, a couple of cupboards, a huge windowpane facing out towards the sea, and a door leading directly onto the veranda. The king-sized bed in the middle takes up most of the room, and Rhys is already looking forward to rumbling the comfortable looking blue bedding. He turns away, nodding to himself.

The door to his right is closed, by Jack’s hand, and Rhys makes sure that he’s still alone when he carefully opens it and takes a peek inside.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t another bedroom. Built much like the other one, only instead of a window there’s an illuminated aquarium that makes up the entire back of the room, the only source of light. It makes sense, seeing as there’d only be stone on the other side of a possible window, and it’s gorgeous to boot. Rhys is sure he could get lost in watching the various, colourful fish swim their rounds.

Still, he feels guilty about his curiosity, skin itching as if he intruded upon something he shouldn’t have. Swallowing, he quickly closes the door to the bedroom that is and will remain unoccupied.

A quick look through the door ahead at the end of the corridor confirms that it leads out to the private beach, a small cove, really, enclosed and sheltered by the cliffs.

Compared to that view, the bathroom to his left pales, no matter how pretty the blue seashell-tiles, and how inviting the ridiculously large bathtub looks.

Somehow he isn’t even surprised when the last room turns out to not only contain a bar but also another sprawling seating area topped of with a billiard table. Reddish sunlight streaks in through the large windows and open veranda door, and Rhys hadn’t realised how late it already is until now.

Outside on the veranda, bathed in the setting sun and sitting in one of the white wooden chairs is Jack, nursing a bottle of beer, an empty one already at his feet.

It’s difficult for Rhys to explain the emotions that make his heart constrict at the sight.

Something like pain except that’s not it. More of an ache. Longing? He frowns at himself, because that's ridiculous. There’s nothing keeping him from going over to Jack and being with him right this moment.

Nothing at all.

Except for the shadow of a little girl who was once a part of Jack’s life but isn’t anymore, something Rhys wasn’t even aware of until today, and his helplessness in the face of what to do with that information.

As far a Rhys can tell Jack doesn't drink a lot of alcohol. More often than not he probably forgets to drink anything at all until he gets home and empties an entire water bottle, sometimes two. So what kind of memories was he trying to ward off on the flight here already?

What kind of memories are haunting him right now?

Rhys closes his eyes and inhales deeply, lets the smell of the sea coming in from outside expand his lungs, holds it there for longer than is comfortable. 

Hands held loosely at his sides, he expels it in a long breath, and with it all of his questions and nagging curiosity.

It’ll soon be a year now without any concrete answers about Jack and Jack’s past. Compared to that, what’s a few more hours, a few more days?

He strides towards the veranda, a small smile in place by the time he’s standing in front of Jack. Rhys bows mockingly. “You called, your majesty?”

Jack huffs. “Yeah, _ages_ ago, and I’ve been sitting here alone for even longer. What happened, did you go outside and get distracted by something shiny on the beach again?” The bite in his words isn’t as sharp as it could be, probably dulled by the alcohol.

Thankfully, Rhys knows how to deal with Jack when he’s like this, even if the exact reasons for the moodiness aren’t clear to him. Yet. He steps forward, gently pushing the hand holding the beer out of his way before smoothly sliding onto Jack’s lap.

Not even a creak from the wooden chair, and Rhys is grateful for that. His palms come to rest on Jack’s strong shoulders, and he begins massassing them with his thumbs, rubbing them in small, hopefully relaxing circles. “Thank you, for bringing me here.” He finds and holds Jack’s distant gaze. “This is already the best vacation I've ever been on.”

The reply comes at the same time Jack’s mismatched eyes finally truly focus on him. One corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up. “Considering this is basically your first vacation that is really not the huge compliment you are making it out to be.” 

Rhys nods, mock thoughtfully. “I guess you’ll have to work really hard so future trips live up to this standard then,” he tells Jack earnestly.

Jack chuckles, and right there underneath Rhys’ hands, the tense line of Jack’s shoulders eases slightly.

Satisfied, Rhys leans in, swallows whatever Jack is about to say next with his lips. It doesn’t take much coaxing to lure Jack’s tongue into his mouth, Jack’s free hand already roving greedily over his back.

They part for heated intakes of breath, only a couple, watching each other through lidded eyes. 

This time it’s Jack who leans in first, lips wet and rough against Rhys’. His palm sneaks under Rhys’ shirt, stops between his shoulder blades, large and heavy.

Carefully, Rhys’ trails his thumb along Jack’s left arm, over the skin on the inside of his elbow, and down even further. At the end of his slow exploration, he takes the beer bottle from Jack’s unresisting fingers, lets it thump down onto the floorboards underneath them.

Humming appreciatively, Jack’s now freed hand moves down to Rhys’ ass, presses them even closer together.

The sun is vanishing behind the horizon when they part again, and Rhys rests his head on Jack’s shoulder, his forehead pressed against Jack’s throat.

Apparently not satisfied with touching Rhys’ back anymore, Jack’s other hand leaves Rhys’ shirt, presses warm and possessive against the nape of Rhys’ neck. It stays there, followed by a heavy, content sigh blown against Rhys’ cheek.

Rhys shivers, not from cold, but he buries himself deeper into Jack’s embrace nonetheless.

The lampions turns on, adding their warm, orange glow, and then there’s nothing but their even breathing, the ocean before them, and the slowly quietening screams of seagulls in the distance.

Xin’s voice drifts through the open windows of the kitchen, without directly intruding on this small moment of intimacy. “Dinner is ready, sirs.”

On cue, their stomachs rumble in unison, and they both laugh quietly, the sound drifting off with the waves around them.

Rhys makes a surprised noise when Jack stands abruptly, both hands now firmly on Rhys’ ass, keeping him from falling. Reflexively, Rhys crosses his legs behind Jack’s back, and wisely decides not to comment on Jack’s grunt of effort.

“Let’s see if the food is as good as I remember,” Jack says, carrying him through the party room and into the corridor, towards a heap of delicious smells that vie for their attention.

Jack walks past the closed bedroom door without a flicker on his face, and instead of saying a single word Rhys presses a quick kiss against Jack’s bondmark.

There and gone again before Jack can think anything of it.

* * *

Dinner is delicious and plentiful, and Rhys instantly regrets the second and third helping, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to burst any second now. Patting his stomach, he decides to postpone worrying about his weight until they're back.

At least Jack looks just as full as Rhys feels. “That was acceptable,” he tells Xin, standing up. Before he starts heading towards the back exist, he glances at Rhys. “I’m going to go for a walk, catch some fresh air. Be back in a bit.”

Rhys watches him leave, waits just long enough until Jack vanishes from sight. “Wash your feet when you get back!” he calls after Jack cheerfully.

Some faint grumbling, but no actual objections.

Satisfied, Rhys takes another sip of his juice. Purple this time, and even better than the one before. He grins at Xin, who’s smiling at him knowingly. “Don’t listen to him, that was amazing.” As proof, he pats his more than full stomach.

Xin laughs, already busy putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “Thank you.”

They are quiet for a moment, and then Xin says, “Anel, the son of one of my cousins, will be helping me tend to you.” She seems to weigh her words, looking unhappy. “I wouldn’t normally have agreed to this, but he begged for this opportunity, and the others would never have let me hear the end of it if I refused.” Her voice turns intent and stern. “If he does anything to displease either of you, you let me know immediately, and family or not, he’s _gone_ , I promise.” The smile returns. “I will not let him ruin your first vacation.”

Hiding a wince behind his glass, Rhys nods in answer.

He remembers being reliant on taking on summer jobs, and already resigns himself to running interference between the poor guy and Jack. One wrong intake of breath and Anel would be out of a job.

“Thank you.” Xin bows slightly, apparently satisfied now that there’s nothing left to testify to the wonderful spread they just had. “I wish you two a good night.”

“You, too!” Rhys waves after her, and then stares outside the kitchen windows, his fingers tapping restlessly on the glass in his hands. Try as he might, he can’t keep his eyes from flickering to the closed bedroom door.

He needs some answers from Jack, and soon, but does he really want to risk further probing here, right now? Does his petty nosiness outweigh the hurt he might cause Jack by scraping open old scars?

Groaning, Rhys lets his head thud onto the table.

Omega or not, being considerate doesn’t just come naturally to him, no matter what the so-called specialists claim. Probably just more bullshit they like to propagate so that they can keep being dicks.

Rhys decides that he might as well get cozy while he’s wallowing in self-pity. He stands, and grabs some of his sea treasures before heading into the bathroom. On his way, he dims the lights, amused how novel it now feels to have to do it manually.

Once inside the bathroom he spreads the stones and seashells out between the two massive white stone basins, inspects his findings. Some of them look... weirdly boring suddenly. Frowning, Rhys pokes one simple brown stone. “Why did I even pick you up?” he mumbles quietly. On a whim, he turns the water on and holds the stone under it. Instantly, a pleasing shimmer greets him, and Rhys laughs.

Everything looks better when wet, indeed.

Rhys carefully cleans the other ones as well, then pushes them to the edge of the sinks to dry.

He’ll need to find himself a pretty bowl once he’s back home. Humming thoughtfully, Rhys strips out of his clothes, and takes off his prosthetic, placing it on top of the pile. Vaughn probably won’t even notice if Rhys takes something fitting from his tableware. Probably.

Low music starts playing when he experimentally pushes one of the buttons next to the basins. Obviously something local, with a lot of different instruments, and much less synthesised than what he’s used to from Helios. Satisfied, he braves the monster shower and bathtub combo.

The first jet of water on his back makes him groan, and he hadn’t realised just how exhausted he was until now. Last time he’d been on his feet for so long was when he was still running errands for Henderson.

Grimacing, Rhys shakes his head, quickly dismissing the memory. He soaps himself up, taking extra care to clean his feet of any traces of sand.

Rhys once ate cookies in his bed and regretted it for days until he gave in and changed the sheets, he knows what he’s talking about. If Jack forgets to do the same, he’s sleeping on the veranda.

No leniency.

After he’s done, Rhys opens the narrow and high-set windows to let the humid air out, and catches a glimpse of the three moons up above. The sight makes him exhale loudly, and Rhys quickly turns off the lights completely before rushing back over to the windows, craning his neck to take it in. There are no clouds in the dark night sky, and still the moonlight seems surprisingly bright, overshadowing the orange lantern-glow completely.

He stands there until his neck begins to hurt, lulled in by the music and view. Scratching the back of his throat and biting his lip, he goes back to the basins and brushes his teeth.

Good thing Jack isn’t here to call him a tourist right now, because he’d be absolutely right.

Speaking of Jack… Rhys picks up his prosthetic, and nudges the pile of his clothes with his toes.

“Why not?” Shrugging, he darts through the corridor and into their bedroom, stark naked and laughing breathlessly. Even more moonlight welcomes him there, reflected by the ocean outside. He suppresses the instant need to hide himself.

There is nobody out there to see him, not on the veranda and not on the vast body of water stretching out before him.

Still, Rhys quickly mounts his right arm on the cradle, and slips underneath the smooth covers, burying himself in them.

He shifts until he’s comfortable, weirded out by feeling the covers everywhere, and even more aware that he’s completely naked. Rhys makes a face, deciding that this can totally remain Jack’s thing.

The veranda door is open, and he’s still contemplating if he’ll be able to fall asleep with the sound of the sea so close by when he dozes off. 

Distantly, he’s aware of the shower turning on again, and of a warm body slipping in next to him after.

Large palms wander sluggishly over his naked skin, accompanied by an appreciative rumble.

Jack’s feet are still wet.

Rhys smiles to himself, presses his chest closer against Jack’s with a content hum.

An answering murmur, a kiss pressed against the top of his head, and Rhys is carried off to sleep by Jack’s familiar snoring and the gently crashing waves outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seeing as this still hasn't earned the explicit rating, I thought I should add some plot instead! oh, and a healthy dose of _feelings_.
> 
> is rabbit heart porn with plot or plot with porn at this point? I don't even know anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, how about we earn that explicit rating now, eh?

The next day finds Rhys alone on one of the two beach loungers in their private little alcove with Jack inside their bungalow, working.

Rhys didn’t mention that little detail in the short message he sent to Vaughn earlier, of course. He felt bad enough that he had forgotten to let them know he arrived safely the day before, and making them think he wasn’t having a good time wouldn’t help anybody.

And Rhys is having a good time, because if Jack’d rather pore himself over some random reports than soak up the sun with Rhys, then that’s his loss.

A couple of bathing trunks were already laid out for them this morning, different lengths and colours, and Rhys is going to make sure Jack gives Xin the biggest tip when they leave. Especially because Jack apparently had ideas about having Rhys wander about naked, going by Jack’s sullen complaining when he saw Rhys pick up the yellow ones.

Rhys turns onto his front, rests his head on his forearms, careful not to jostle the heart-shaped sunglasses sitting on his nose. There are a couple of palm trees next to him that offer a bit of shadow, but sunscreen or not, his face was already red this morning; so red apparently, that Jack felt compelled to ask him if he was okay. 

So yeah, Rhys is not taking any chances today.

A seagull cries out loudly above him, seeming to support him in this decision.

“I brought you another one, Rhys,” a voice suddenly says next to him.

On Helios he’d never be caught off guard like this, but taking his cue from Jack’s laid-back demeanor, even more prominent here, Rhys has rarely felt more safe. He didn’t even feel the need to mount his prosthetic today.

Thankfully, it’s not some kind of terrifying bandit-assassin, but merely Xin’s relative.

Anel is younger than Rhys, maybe not even twenty yet. Dark hair, sturdy, but not fully grown into himself, and terribly pimple-faced, Rhys immediately felt a kinship with him, even before he realised that Anel is also an omega.

There’s a good reason Rhys got rid of all the pictures that exist of him as a teenager; puberty was not kind to him. At first his limbs didn’t seem to want to grow at all, and then they suddenly did, unevenly, and didn’t ever stop for long enough for Rhys to be able to move around without feeling completely off-center. He knows Vaughn’s got a couple of pictures left, hidden away somewhere in a misguided attempt at preserving memories, but one day Rhys is going to get his hands on those as well.

He turns onto his back. It took a bit of effort and true Rhys-charm to get Anel to drop the ‘sir’. Rhys just can’t get used to the title; it doesn’t make him feel respected, just old. “Thanks.” He waves vaguely to the small, round table next to him. “Just leave it there.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Anel asks, apparently so excited he’s stumbling over his words slightly, “Please tell me more about Hyperion. You’ve been with them for so many years, I bet you’ve made it way high up the hierarchy even before you ended up with Handsome Jack!”

Rhys is feeling too relaxed to lie. He laughs. “I wish.” Sighing, he scratches his bare stomach. “I was doing great, you know. Going places.” He turns slightly, squints at Anel. “You know how it is. You catch the attention of the wrong asshole and _boom_.” Rhys waves with his hand. “It all goes up in flames.”

Is he talking about Vasquez or Jack? Who knows.

Rhys snorts to himself. Okay, that was kinda mean. Maybe he’s a tiny bit mad Jack’s not with him right now after all.

“Oh.” Axel doesn’t exactly sound disappointed; Rhys can’t place the tone.

A questioning glance reveals that Anel is still holding Rhys’ newly filled glass in his hand.

Rhys frowns slightly. The juice probably won’t taste quite as good all warmed up. 

Before Rhys can say anything about that, Anel asks hastily, “But Handsome Jack lets you be part of his decisions, right? He took you here, so I bet you must be indispensable to him and Hyperion.”

It really shouldn’t, but this prompts another laugh out of Rhys. “He’s in there, working, and I’m out here, waiting until he deems me more important again.” Yeesh, alright, that sounded way too bitter. Rhys turns fully, taking off his sunglasses, and smiles at Anel. “Don’t be like me; don’t be a kept omega.” He adds a wink, hoping to lighten the atmosphere again.

Somehow, Anel only seems even more put upon than before. 

Is that just Rhys’ imagination or is the hand he has around the glass shaking slightly?

“Did you…” Anel licks his lips, doesn’t quite meet Rhys’ eyes. “Did you lose your arm and eye up there?”

Well, this conversation suddenly took a turn for the weird and personal. Blinking, Rhys considers his answer. Finally, he simply shrugs. “Yeah.” A white lie is not lie, he tells himself firmly. Yvette, Vaughn and he had a long, long, discussion about this until they finally came to an agreement. “It’s not a big deal,” he adds quickly, realising the picture he’s painting of Helios and Hyperion right now.

Rhys draws his hand through his hair, then stretches his palm out to Anel. “I’ve been taking up enough of your time already. Jack doesn’t want to be disturbed, and I’m good. You can check in on us again in a couple of hours. Go, have some fun in town until then, it won’t be a problem.”

For a second, Anel’s eyes flicker to him, then to the glass in his hands that he seems unwilling to part with. Impossibly, his fidgeting increases.

And just like that, Rhys realises what’s going on. He grins deviously. “Not a big fan of Hyperion are you? What did you do, did you spit in my drink?” More mental pictures invite themselves into an impromptu slideshow, and Rhys makes a face. “Don’t tell me if it was something grosser, please.”

Anel goes white, and Rhys immediately feels like a dick.

He’s been caught in the same war with himself often enough to recognise a fight or flight reaction when he sees one.

Rhys softens his tone. “I won’t tell Jack, alright?” Because if he did, Anel wouldn’t simply be out of a summer job, and the horror on Anel’s face tells Rhys he’s well aware of that. “Just… get me another one, and promise never to do it again, okay?” When Anel doesn’t even twitch, just keeps staring at him with wide eyes, Rhys bites his bottom lip, whispers conspiratorially, “I know it sucks to have to tend to rich assholes, but the customer is king even if you hate their guts.” 

Still no reaction, and for a wild moment, Rhys is sure Anel is going to punch him and make a run for it. He quickly goes in for the emotional kill. “Plus, I don’t think Xin would ever forgive you if you gave the Toe a bad name. This place seems really important to her.”

That finally does the trick.

Anel’s shoulders slump, and he grimaces. “She’s not exactly my favourite aunt, but… I don’t want to get her into trouble.” He takes a shuddering inhale, meeting Rhys’ eyes pleadingly. “I’m really sorry,” Anel says, with way more desperation than Rhys thinks is strictly necessary for an offense he didn’t even commit.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Rhys relaxes back into the beach longer, subtly declaring this mess over and done with. “Like I said, it’s okay. Xin is going to bring us dinner tonight, and until then we’ll both be okay.” He manages a grin. “And when we see each other again tomorrow we can both pretend this never happened.”

Amazingly, Anel takes the hint. “I’ll bring you a new glass, and the entire self-cooling bottle with the purple juice, be right back,” he says eagerly, off before Rhys can give him so much as an encouraging nod.

Alone once more, Rhys lets out a long breath. That was a lot more excitement than he expected when he settled in for some nice, quiet sunbathing.

He sits up, and yawning, stretches his legs out in front of him. Just in case Anel feels like apologising even more when he comes back, Rhys decides to go cool his feet in the waves.

Considering this is a private stretch of beach, there’s probably even nicer things to find here.

Humming to himself, Rhys wriggles his fingers expectantly, and makes for the shore.

* * *

The sun is high up in the bright blue sky by the time Jack flops down loudly on the beach lounger next to him. “I don’t know how you stand this heat. The short stretch from the bungalow to here was enough to nearly kill me.”

Rhys barely glances sat him before going back to nursing his glass of thick, delicious juice. Apparently Jack wasn’t so keen on getting too much sun and sand onto his sensitive parts either, seeing as he’s picked a black pair of swimming trunks. “For a dead man you are very loud.”

Silence.

He’s jostled suddenly, and grumbling, Rhys places his glass on the table while Jack is pushing their loungers together.

Once done, Jack slides an arm around him. “Come on, don’t be like that. It was time sensitive stuff that couldn’t wait.” He presses his nose into Rhys’ hair, and then an appreciative rumble as well.

Dispassionately, Rhys inspects his fingernails.

One, two, three…

“It’s unbelievably unsatisfying to fire somebody while you can’t even threaten them in person.” Jack sighs sadly. “I could have remote controlled one of my many shiny toys, but that simply wouldn’t have been the same, you know?”

Rhys makes a disinterested noise. 

...eight, nine...

“Fine, you’re apparently completely apathetic to my suffering.” When Rhys only makes a small sound of agreement in the back of his throat, Jack lets out another sigh, this one decidedly grumpy. “How can I make it up to you?”

Instantly, Rhys swings himself up and over, arranging himself until he’s seated astride Jack’s lap. Underneath them, the lounger creaks slightly, but not alarmingly so. “Oh, I don’t know.” He trails his fingernails slowly down Jack’s chest, enjoying the sensation of heated, sweaty skin and coarse hair. There’s an instant spark on interest in Jack’s eyes, even before Rhys shifts oh-so delicately on top of him.

Right now, though, Rhys has other priorities. Turns out there were unforseen drawbacks to giving Anel a free day.

Rhys leans down until their mouths are almost but not quite touching, lowers his voice into an easy purr. “You could take me…”

Jack growls, his finger moving to settle heavily on Rhys’ thighs.

A quick kiss, and Rhys sits back up, adding cheerfully, “And your shiny black card into town so I can finally get something to eat.”

For a moment, Jack blinks up at him, expression somewhere between surprise and disbelief.

When Rhys merely blinks right back at him, expectantly, Jack moves his hands up to his face, covers his eyes with them. “I don’t deserve this,” he declares sadly, and to nobody in particular.

“I’m pretty sure you do, actually.” Grinning, Rhys pats his chest consolingly. “Now get up, it’s way past lunchtime and I’m really hungry.”

Dejectedly, Jack drags himself up. “You’re a real slave driver, and I’d sick _Legal_ on your ass if I wasn’t so fond of it.”

Rhys takes Jack’s arm, practically dragging him back towards the bungalow. “You say the sweetest things,” he says distractedly, not really listening because there’s already a plan forming in his head. Grab a T-shirt, because they are not going to walk through town half-naked, no matter if it’s a vacation resort or not, and then a pair of sandals from the open cabinet near the entrance. 

What about his prosthetic? His stomach twinges helpfully, making the decision for him, and he leaves his sunglasses behind as well.

Could Rhys have simply gotten himself something from the fridge anytime before? Well, yeah, but he was _really_ comfortable and thus incapable of moving. At all.

Jack follows him, uncharacteristically silent until they are already slipping into the sandals. “Hey,” he says quietly, gently tugging Rhys closer with one large palm on the nape of his neck. “It really couldn’t wait, but barring any emergencies caused by rampant idiocy, I’m all yours for the reminder of the trip.”

There’s something genuine in the corners of Jack’s eyes, something like, _are we okay?_ , and Rhys feels the ice melt away from his limbs. He leans against Jack’s chest, curls his hand loosely into Jack’s hair. 

This time, the kiss is slow, tentative almost, but the message hopefully clear.

_We’re okay._

Grinning, Jack lodges him thumb into the waistband of Rhys’ swimming trunks, and places a familiar, oversized strawhat on Rhys’ head, procured from somewhere behind his back. “Ready when you are.” He snaps his finger against the side of it, so that it ends up sitting askew on top of Rhys’ head once more.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been pretty much waiting for you the entire morning.” Rhys smiles lopsidedly while they leave the bungalow, fingers wonderingly tracing along the edge of the strawhat. He winces slightly, hoping Jack won’t take that too literal, even if it is partly true.

Jack drags the nail of his thumb over the skin on Rhys’ side, voice low. “You’ve been waiting for me your entire life, you mean.”

Rolling his eyes, Rhys huffs, amused and disgusted in equal measure. He doesn’t say anything, though, because where once Rhys’ right arm was, Jack’s solid presence fits very nicely against his shoulder, and that’s just not something that needs to be voiced right now.

After all, Jack’s ego is already big enough to warrant having its own booked seat on a shuttle ride as it is.

* * *

Contrary to previously entertained fantasies, Rhys doesn’t make Jack use his credit card until it’s smoking and smouldering. They buy ice cream, a large enough helping to soothe Rhys’ hunger, before exploring the other shops.

He only picks two T-shirts for himself, one blue with waves on it, and another one with a black cat on the front, with _Hang in there!_ printed under it in wriggly letters. The back of it prominently features the cat’s tail and butt.

It’s pretty much the best design Rhys has ever seen.

Jack leaves him alone for a bit while he’s still browsing the selection, and Rhys decides to add two more cat T-shirts for his friends. He already knows they are going to make fun of him for buying a matching set, but he also knows that they’re going to love the very same fact fervently, especially with how neglected they’d been feeling recently.

“You have to visit our aquarium, sir, it’s our entire pride,” the shopkeeper, a guy with green hair and many distracting tentacles for appendages tells him excitedly while they wait for Jack to return. “We wanted something really special, and had it built underwater!”

“So you could say it’s actually more of a people tank than a fish tank, eh?” Rhys’ quips, and the shopkeeper laughs, so sincerely Rhys makes Jack add a nice tip when he joins them again.

After they leave the shop, the paper bag with Rhys’ spoils securely hanging from Jack’s shoulder, Rhys nudges his hip against Jack’s. “What’s with the big grin?”

Jack flashes said grin at him. “Nothing, I’m just having a great time.”

He squints at Jack suspiciously, but decides that honestly, he’d rather not know what Jack was up to. Nothing good, obviously.

A sweet, distracting smell suddenly reaches his nose, and Rhys’ eyes are drawn to the bakery on their left, and the numerous slices of cake on offer, each more grand and unhealthy looking than the one before. He licks his lips.

“You’re going to make yourself sick long before we get dinner.”

Rhys looks at Jack earnestly, palm on the shop display. “We all have to live with the consequences of our actions.”

Chuckling quietly, Jack presses a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t come complaining to me later.”

He buys Rhys a delicious slice of pure chocolate goodness.

In gratitude, and because his stomach is beginning to complain a bit — not that he’d admit that — Rhys lets him eat the second half of it.

* * *

Xin offers them another spread fitting for minor royalty, and doesn’t say a word about Anel skirting his duties or something equally ridiculous, which Rhys counts as a personal victory.

By the time they’ve made themselves comfortable outside on the veranda, once again in their swimming trunks and with their chairs firmly locked together, night has descended fully, thick clouds only allowing the moons to shine through sporadically.

The warm orange lantern light makes Rhys even more drowsy, and he snuggles in closer against Jack’s side, his head on Jack’s shoulder. His eyes are on the dark waves, and his voice quiet when he says, “Let’s go swimming together tomorrow, yeah?” 

Jack pats his hip, nursing another one of those terrible, clear drinks that smell sharp and intense enough to make Rhys’ throat ache. “Sure.” His lips linger on Rhys’ temple, warm and wet. “Are you so eager to try out the clasp I got you?”

Laughing softly, Rhys let’s his fingers wander over Jack’s soft stomach, presses his palm onto the treasure trail just below Jack’s belly. “You only built this thing to be able to duck me under, don’t even pretend otherwise.” His playful words belie how much Jack’s present really means to him. A small glance to it reveals it’s still there, set below Rhys’ right shoulder, which is a good confirmation to have, because Rhys can’t actually _feel_ it. 

There’s no feedback, no grinding, no nothing. Not even a hint of discomfort when Jack carefully and critically slid the claps into position earlier with merely a soft click.

It fits perfectly into the technical wasteland that is his right shoulder without the prosthetic set into it, sealing it off completely. The clasp is thin, made out of a smooth and light material Rhys hasn’t been able to figure out yet but heavily suspects to be the same as Jack’s mask.

There is a tiny indentation at the upper end of it, invisible if you don’t actually know where to look, allowing it to switch between a couple of colours with a simple touch. Metallic grey, white, flesh-coloured, which was a bit weird, to be honest, and, of course, good old Hyperion yellow. Rhys settled for grey for now, because that’s closest to what he’s familiar with.

He won’t be able to use the clasp indefinitely whenever he’s without his prosthetic, of course. Regardless of where on your body you have a modicifcation, the sometimes still clumsy mixture of skin and technology needs to get air regularly or internal rot can set in, and Rhys _really_ shouldn’t have looked at pictures of this, but that gruesome detail aside...

No more contorting himself in the shower or during a bath; Rhys still can’t quite believe it.

“Your accusations, however well-founded in reality, wound me deeply, Rhysie.” He places one hand over his heart, as well as possible with the glass he’s holding while his other one rubs slow circles on Rhys’ hip.

Jack obviously put a lot of thought and time into the design and function of the clasp, and no matter how often Rhys thanks him for it, he’ll never be able to properly convey the full level of his gratitude.

But hey, that doesn’t mean a guy can’t try.

He slips his fingers below the waistband of Jack’s trunks, lets his knuckles graze Jack’s cock. It earns him an encouraging chuckle, and Rhys shifts over, settling himself on Jack’s lap once more. With only one arm it’s a bit difficult to hold his balance while he slides the swimming trunks down and out of the way, but before Rhys can do more than wobble precariously on Jack’s knees, there’s a muffled clank, and both of Jack’s palms come to rest on his lower back, steadying him.

Jack’s glass rolls to the edge of the veranda, spilling the rest of its content over it, and Rhys’ eyes follow its path curiously before meeting Jack’s darkly amused gaze. Oops?

In apology, Rhys wraps his hand fully around Jack’s cock, delighted by the small groan Jack presses out between his teeth. When Rhys begins to pump his fist in earnest, Jack’s hips buck up into the touch.

There’s the slightest twitch at the corner of Jack’s lips, more of a tic, really, proof how tightly controlled Jack holds himself, even now.

When Jack’s cock is hard and leaking over his hand, Rhys leans in to lick Jack’s nose, grazes the tip of it with his teeth. “I really want to blow you.”

Jack’s mouth stretches into a slow, very white grin, his pupils blown. “Far be it from me to stop you.” He presses his lips together, groans again when Rhys’ tightens his hold on him. “But you’re gonna get yourself splinters out here.” A long, heavy exhale. “So even if it kills me to say this, stop for a second and grab my shoulder, and we’ll move this inside.”

Rhys does let go, but not before giving Jack’s cock another loving stroke, and then Jack’s hoisting him up with a grunt. They stumble into their bedroom like this, Rhys laughing breathlessly, and Jack cursing up an impatient storm.

With the swimming trunks hanging criminally low on his hips, his cock hard and straining up between them, and a dark flush spread out on his chest and throat from arousal and strain alike, Jack’s something to behold alright, and Rhys is on him as soon as his back hits the bed.

He grabs Jack’s ass, pulling him close, and their tongues meet inside of Rhys’ mouth, wet and messy and desperate.

Jack’s hands aren’t exactly careful when they pull the swimming trunks off of him, and Rhys kicks them away with the same amount of fervor. The rough drag of their cocks against each other makes them both moan, and Jack rolls them around, the grin returning full force. “Time to put your mouth where your money is.”

Rhys didn’t know he could groan and laugh at the same time, but with Jack you apparently just never stop learning new things, about the world and yourself.

He scoots backwards on his knees, licking his lips, and never looking away from Jack.

There’s no more moonlight coming in from outside, only the orange glow of the lanterns on the veranda, giving Jack an almost otherworldly air about him.

Unceremoniously, he pushes Jack’s legs apart with his hand, gratified when Jack holds them steady exactly like this.

Preparation is for the weak, and Rhys swallows Jack’s cock right away, without warning.

“Fuck!” Jack shouts, his hips lifting off the bed, and Rhys almost with them.

Smiling smugly, Rhys holds himself still, mouth and throat stretched nearly to their limit while he savours Jack’s taste, and the small tremors that have claimed Jack’s thighs.

Jack props himself up on one elbow, his palm heavy on the back of Rhys’ neck. “You know,” he says, voice pleasantly husky, “You’d give me a complex if I didn’t know your gag reflex is completely out of order.”

Rhys hums around Jack’s cock, and Jack’s eyes fall shut, a low growl falling from his parted lips. Poking Jack’s upper leg to get his attention, Rhys winks at him once, opens his mouth just a little further around the stretch.

Prone and willing and offering himself up to be used.

Going by the almost wondering look in Jack’s glazed eyes, Jack got the message loud and clear.

In his eagerness, Jack’s movements are uncharacteristically clumsy when he pulls himself up onto the back of his knees, but still careful not to dislodge Rhys off of him.

“There we go.” He moans again, fucking Rhys’ mouth in a slow rhythm. “Just relax and let me show you how good you are at this.” His pace increases quickly, and Rhys’ hand practically turns into a claw on the bedding, too busy trying to hold on to be able to worry about breathing or other banalities.

His face feels almost unbearably hot, his head dizzy, and he can feel tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, but compared to the feeling of Jack’s cock dragging over his tongue, the raw desire Jack has for him, everything else fades away.

“That’s it,” Jack growls, almost frantic in his need now. “Babe, you’re a piece of brand-new tech and I—” He comes with a bitten off and almost painful sounding groan, spilling warm and plentiful down Rhys’ throat.

He pulls out of Rhys before he’s fully spent himself, causing splatters to hit Rhys’ face and chest, but before Rhys can even think about voicing a complaint, Jack’s hands drag him up onto his knees, and Jack’s tongue is back inside of his mouth, never giving him a chance to take a breath.

They part with a loud, wet smack, and Jack’s voice is so low, Rhys has to strain his ears to understand him, even though they couldn’t be closer. “I want to pick you apart and put you back together again with my own hands.”

As if it to empathise his words, he fits his palms loosely around Rhys’ neck, stares at him with something unfathomable and all-consuming in his eyes.

Rhys’ first attempt at speaking fails spectacularly, and is nothing more than a pitiful croak, and in the low glow of the lanterns, Jack’s eyes glint with dark satisfaction. “You could start by cleaning up the mess you just made,” he finally manages to get out, pointing to his chest and cheek, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

One corner of Jack’s mouth curls up. “Your wish is my command,” he says, voice nothing but gravel, and the sudden, rough slide of his tongue over Rhys’ chest is almost a shock.

And just like that, Rhys becomes aware of how painfully hard he is.

Groaning, Rhys’ fists his fingers into Jack’s hair, his entire body shuddering, straining against nothing because Jack’s still holding him by the throat, and if Rhys comes like this, Jack’s ego might burst due to overload.

“Please, Jack, please, touch me.” His voice cracks on the last word, but Jack takes pity on him.

He engulfs Rhys’ cock in his hand, bites Rhys’ left nipple hard enough to startle a yell out of him, and Rhys paints Jack’s palm with his come almost instantly. Drained, Rhys falls against Jack’s chest, and they stay like this, letting their breathing become steady again.

And because Jack doesn’t think about the people who will have to clean up after them, at all, he wipes his hand on the blanket.

Maybe he can wash out the worst stains tomorrow before Xin has to get involved, Rhys thinks to himself distantly, and then follows Jack silently into the bathroom.

After they’ve cleaned themselves up and brushed their teeth, Jack shows him how to remove the clasp, just as easy as attaching it had been. They curl around each other on the rumpled sheets, covered by a fresh blanket grabbed from the wardrobe, the smell of sex already overpowered by the smell of the sea.

“How’re you feeling?” Jack asks quietly, his arms warm and strong around Rhys.

“Never better,” Rhys rasps, a bit surprised. Usually Jack simply assumes, rightfully so, that Rhys can take it. His cock twitches when Jack starts mouthing at the bond mark on his throat, and he presses his palm against Jack’s chest, unsure if he wants for Jack to stop or to keep going.

Jack doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere with his ministrations, though, and soon Rhys is drifting off to sleep with Jack’s lips gently fastened to his skin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weekend, finally! let's celebrate with more porn and feels, and a surprise appearance :D

They are both still in bed when Xin’s cheerful voice reaches them. “Good morning, gentlemen! Breakfast is ready!”

When Rhys stretches, mentally preparing himself to get dressed in a hurry, a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Stay, I’ve got this.” Jack presses a kiss against Rhys’ lips, and stands up.

“Put something on, please?” Rhys says hurriedly, his cheeks heating.

Jack raises an eyebrow at him while he grabs his boxers from the chair by the door, and slides into them before leaving the room. 

Did he plan on doing that anyway or is he amused by Rhys’ sense of modesty? With Jack both seem equally likely.

Shaking his head at himself, Rhys falls back against the pillows, only vaguely listens to Xin’s and Jack’s voices drifting in through the corridor.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to come back, carrying two large trays with some difficulty, the two glasses of juice on them teetering precariously. 

Before he can kick the door shut, Rhys calls, “Thank you, Xin!”

Laughter bright and clear in her voice, Xin answers, “Enjoy!” and then, with Jack rolling his eyes, the door falls shut.

“Well, sorry for having some manners.” There’s no heat in it, though, Rhys is already far too busy licking his lips while he stares at the food on the trays.

Jack hands him one of them, shimmies out of his boxershorts before taking his place next to him, and his hairy feet vanish under the covers once more. “Manners are a useless construct employed by the unwashed masses to make their situation seem better,” he tells Rhys matter of factly before biting into an apple.

Head tilted to the side, Rhys blinks at him.

What do you even say to that?

After wasting almost a minute to staring at Jack with open disbelief and incomprehension, Rhys gives up finding a satisfying reply. “Sure, keep telling yourself that, old man.” Then, more quietly while he decides on which delicious looking topping to put on his croissants, “I know who’s not getting any blowjobs today.”

Chuckling, Jack pokes his side with a sticky finger. “That’s okay, the one I got yesterday was passable enough to get me through the day.”

Rhys whips around to him, eyes narrowed. “Excuse you!?” When Jack grabs one of Rhys’ croissants in the next moment, completely ignoring the ones on his own tray, Rhys is ready to start a fight, one arm or not.

Before they can figure out just how much damage Rhys can do before Jack overwhelms him, Jack says calmly, completely deaf to the murderous aura radiating off of Rhys, “What do you want on this?” He’s already slicing open the croissant, looking at Rhys expectantly with a small smile tugging at his lips.

Sniffing, Rhys points to the honey, and watches Jack critically while he spreads it over Rhys’ croissant.

He doesn’t give Jack a thanks when he hands it back, just digs right in, so Rhys has totally won this round, and with so many sweet tastes chasing each other over Rhys’ tongue, his anger evaporates quickly. 

They enjoy their breakfast quietly, listening to the waves gently rolling in outside, the silence only interrupted whenever Rhys instructs Jack on how to prepare his next croissant or bun. It’s a real petty Jack only rarely leaves work, because Rhys could really get used to this.

Once they are done, Jack places the nearly empty trays beside the bed, and they stare at the ceiling together, patting their full stomachs with a lot of satisfaction and only a tiny bit of regret.

There are probably crumbs in their bed now, but still, that was totally worth it.

When Rhys next opens his eyes with a groggy start, he’s lying on his side, and feeling less like he’s about to explode, which is a great improvement to before, but...

Jack’s staring at him.

Frowning, Rhy touches his face. Did he get food stuck somewhere? That does tend to happen to him, but he can’t find anything amiss. “What is it?” He doesn’t take his palm away, hiding behind it, because Jack’s gaze is truly _unnerving_ in its intensity.

The blanket must have fallen off the bed, and Rhys’ legs draw up against his naked body on their own accord.

“You...” Jack’s fingers circle his wrist, and he pushes Rhys’ arm against the bed, gently but firmly, and Rhys squirms, exposed once more to Jack’s scrutiny.

A small sound falls from his parted lips when Jack’s thumb touches the soft skin under his right eye, his cheek, so careful and hesitant Rhys’ breath hitches. 

“The reddening is gone, and…” Jack licks his lips, voice quiet. “You’ve got freckles.”

Smiling, Rhys exhales. “It’s the sun,” he replies, just as quietly. “It’s been years since I was last in natural sunlight, I completely forgot.” 

He laughs, and Jack grins, and when their lips meet eagerly, hungrily, it’s the most natural thing in the world. They push and pull at each in desperate clumsiness until Rhys feels slick trickle from his ass, and he’s about to climb Jack’ cock like it’s the last escape pod on a crashing station—

Right until Jack leans back slightly, and his mouth does something else instead of kissing him.

“How are you feeling?”

Rhys frees his hand from Jack’s grasp, and sits up. He points a finger at Jack, flushed and a bit in disbelief that they are not fucking yet, but now Jack has done it, now Rhys better get an explanation. “Why do you keep asking if I’m feeling okay? Do you know something I don’t?”

Jack works his jaw, obviously thinking about a) lying or b) keeping silent, neither of which are acceptable.

Rhys pokes him encouragingly with his foot, none too gently in his exasperation.

Grumbling, Jack sits up as well, his cock dark and curving towards his stomach, hard much like Rhys himself, and it takes a lot of effort for Rhys to tear his eyes away from the sight. “Fine, fine. I had the doc extrapolate the data from your last blood works. Repressants make it difficult, but the results predicted your next heat should be hitting about now.” He sighs heavily, one eyebrow raised. “Happy now?”

Blinking, Rhys takes a moment to process that, and to actually check what his body is telling him right now. Yeah, he’s horny, _really_ horny, and he wants Jack’s cock inside of five minutes ago, but that’s just what it’s like whenever he’s with Jack, and not something set off by a heat. He can’t even remember the last time Jack made him get his blood taken, it’s been so long. Before Nisha’s visit, even. “That’s…” Rhys frowns, taps his fingers against his side. “Kind of creepy?”

Jack crosses his arms in front of his chest, his lips pursed. “Well excuse me for wanting to make this occasion a memorable one.” He looks so disappointed and frustrated, as if Rhys somehow did this on purpose. 

Rhys bites his tongue, because he’s pretty sure Jack wouldn’t appreciate if he grinned right now. “Hey,” he says softly, sliding closer to Jack. “It’s also... very sweet of you.” In a really weird, roundabout and typical Jack kind of way.

To be honest, Rhys hadn’t thought about his next heat at all, even though he still has that note from Jack somewhere in his nightdrawer. A lot going on, and yeah, if Rhys is being honest, at least with himself... No matter how much he likes the abstract idea of having Jack’s baby one day, the reality of it is still a bit scary to him.

He bites his lip, eyes flickering over to his stomach, and quickly back to Jack.

Fine. More than a bit, but less so with Jack all grumpy and almost pathetically sad next to him, simply because this vacation didn’t turn out entirely as he had planned.

That thought finally pulls his mouth into a smile. “Pity that didn’t work out.” Patting Jack’s knee, Rhys sighs theatrically, and slowly inches away from him. “Seems like I need to find myself somebody who’ll fuck me without the heat then.”

Rhys doesn’t even have the time to get out a laugh before Jack has tackled him to the bed, pinned him down with his weight. “I don’t think so,” Jack growls, his hands on Rhys’ upper legs, spreading him open roughly.

“ _Prove it_ ,” Rhys growls right back before pressing a pleased grin against his arm.

Chuckling, Jack drags his cock over the cleft of Rhys’ ass, spreading the slick over himself, and Rhys shivers. “You’re playing with fire, Rhysie.” He leans down, drapes himself over Rhys’ back, skin sweaty and hot. His teeth graze Rhys’ neck, and they both let out low sounds at the sensation. “One day you’re gonna burn yourself.”

Sometimes Rhys has to wonder if Jack actually hears the words that come out of his mouth. Biting down the laugh still tickling at the back of his throat, Rhys presses his ass more firmly against Jack, turns his head slightly to the side. “Seems to me all you do is talk.”

With a bewildered hiss, and his fingers bruisingly hard on Rhys’ hips, Jack draws himself up, giving Rhys just enough time to brace himself—

Jack thrusts into him in one long and stuttering shove, and a howled, dragged out, _fuck_.

If Rhys hadn’t just lost the ability to speak, he would have joined in, but even with slick easing the way, without any preparation Jack’s cock is a lot to take in. _Too much_ to take in, a very small voice inside of his head corrects, but seeing as Rhys’ cock is dripping precome on the bedding, his entire body taut with the terribly wonderful mixture of pain and pleasure, that voice can piss right off.

There will definitely no salvaging the bedding after they are done this time, Rhys thinks hazily, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Breathing heavily, Jack stays still, his fingers twitching on Rhys’ skin while Rhys’ body clenches fitfully around him, around the sudden intrusion.

When he doesn’t feel like he’s going to faint any moment, and the hamming inside of his chest has calmed down somewhat, Rhys moves his forefinger slightly. If he opened his mouth now he’d probably just end up moaning and be unable to stop until he crammed his fist into his mouth, and so he hopes Jack is paying attention.

Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.

“You sure.” Jack sounds just as winded as he feels, not even able to make it a proper question, but his hips stay still, only the way his fingers dig in deeper into Rhys’ hips revealing just how much he’s holding back.

Fond and exasperated in equal measure, Rhys shows him his middle finger.

“Yeah, okay, got it.” Chuckling hoarsely, Jack begins to slide out of him, excruciating slow, making the thick drag of his cock even more exquisite and overwhelming.

Jack pushes back in before Rhys can become impatient, and Rhys whimpers, his mouth open and his head burning. Something between a sob and moan joins his panting gasps for breath, and maybe he’s going to faint after all, because Jack is a dirty cheat and keeps aiming for his prostate with every thrust.

There’s a buzzing sensation in his head, the pleasure they both feel, the pleasure they receive and give, turned into a dizzying feedback loop that only becomes more intense the longer Jack fucks him into the mattress with everything he has.

“ _Rhys_ ,” Jack says, voice heavy and loaded with too much for Rhys to comprehend, and reflexively, Rhys makes a grab for his alpha, the attempt nothing more than uncoordinated flailing.

One of Jack’s hands finds his instantly, holds it, and Rhys’ pleased whine turns into an inarticulate shout when Jack’s knot pushes against his entrance.

He doesn’t know whom Jack is trying to torture more by keeping his movements shallow after that first jolt, by only ever just teasing at the final slide, but Rhys is not above begging, not in this. “Jack, please.” Usually Rhys would wince at how needy and _unmade_ his voice rings between them, but thankfully the blood rushing in his ears is louder than anything else right now. “I need it, please, I need your knot.”

Very distantly, he realises that wetness is trailing over his cheeks, that his entire body is shaking.

With an almost furious sounding roar Jack finally slides in completely, pushing his cock in as far as it will go. His knot is heavy and almost too swollen already, but Jack uses his thumb to stretch Rhys even further before Rhys can do more than keen in distress, and Rhys comes with his eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of the knot pressing _in_ while his alpha’s weight presses him into the bed.

Rhys is completely out of it for long enough for the wet patch he’s lying in to cool. Making a face, Rhys blinks his damp eyes open. They must have really overdone it this time, because apparently something in Rhys’ brain short-circuited; he can’t really see anything right now. And he still can’t breathe properly, which is actually worrying enough to push through the haze in his head

Still, it takes him a very long moment to understand that he’s staring at one of the pillows, and that Jack’s lying on top of him.

Jack’s cock pulses hotly, and Rhys realises that Jack’s still coming inside of him, filling him up. He groans, pushes the pillow off the bed, and then hits Jack’s side. “Move, you ass.”

“I think I liked you better when you were completely fucked out,” Jack complains, but he slowly and carefully moves them onto their sides without jostling the knot too badly.

Relieved to be able to draw in a proper breath again, Rhys doesn’t miss the distracted note in Jack’s voice. Craning his neck, Rhys squints up at him, follows Jack’s intent gaze to their left, and—

Lands on their reflection in the huge mirrored wardrobe.

Seeing how quickly the blush takes over Rhys’ face and upper body would be kind of hilarious if it was happening to somebody else and he wasn’t so _floored_.

“You know, that one is new.” Jack’s reflections grins. “It’s a pity I didn’t notice earlier, the view is truly excellent.” Impossibly, the grin widens even further, and Rhys feels alarmed even before Jack says, “I wonder…”

He moans when Jack’s hands pull at his legs, drawing them up until Rhys’ knees are practically touching his chest. “Jack!” Rhys struggles only for a moment, too tired still, and closes his eyes against the picture they make. 

In the mirror, the stretch of Jack’s knot pushed into him looks _obscene_. 

Rhys doesn’t know where to put his hand, what to hide, and ends up with his palm pressed against his burning face. “I’m going to kill you,” he informs Jack in what he feels is a very reasonable tone of voice.

Jack, obviously, is not listening, apparently a lot more interested in trailing his fingers over where they are joined and watching their pornographic reflection. “Sure, Rhysie.”

Another hot jolt inside of him, reminding him that he’s stuck here, like this, and squirming in genuine discomfort now, Rhys says, “Jack, please. Stop.”

To his surprise, Jack does, almost immediately. He curls his body and arms around Rhys, voice soothing. “It’s okay, nothing to be ashamed of.”

Rhys shakes his head mutely, too embarrassed to make his mouth work, his eyes still squeezed shut behind his palm. Gently, Jack begins to stroke the back of his hand, kisses his throat. “Still not into impromptu voyeurism of any kind, duly noted.”

When Rhys remains tense in his arms, Jack sighs against the back of his neck. “Brace yourself.”

Before Rhys can ask what he means by that, Jack grabs his legs, presses him even closer, and in one swift movement, turns them around onto the other side. The painful tug of Jack’s knot against the rim of Rhys’ ass makes them both moan, and hesitantly, Rhys squints between his fingers once they are lying still again.

Only completely harmless cupboards and a desk there.

Slowly, Rhys relaxes into Jack’s embrace, and let’s his hand fall onto the bed.

“There you are,” Jack murmurs against his ear, his breath ghosting warmly over Rhys’ temple. “Now there’s nothing to see in the mirror but my fantastic legs, my astounding backside and my superb shoulders, which I would allow you to sneak a peek at when we’re done, but I’m afraid the sight might be simply too glorious for you to handle.”

Rhys’ lips twitch. “Wouldn’t want to accidentally _blind_ me.”

Jack trails his fingers down Rhys’ side, just where he knows Rhys is the most ticklish. “What was that?”

Squirming for an entirely different reason now, Rhys catches Jack’s hand with his own. “Nothing, nothing!”

The last of the tension drains out of his muscles, and he turns his head slightly to glance at Jack out of the corner of his eyes. “You’re not putting a mirror in your bedroom. Or in your office.”

Jack snorts, curling their fingers into each other. “ _Our_ bedroom, and yeah, I got that, don’t worry.”

Do they sleep in that bed often enough together to call it ‘theirs’? Rhys isn’t quite sure, but decides to give Jack the final say in this, for once. He presses a quick kiss on Jack’s cheek, echoes, “Our bedroom.”

Speaking of…

Rhys bites his lip, a nervous sort of excitement shivering down his spine.

A couple of years down the line there could be somebody else with them here. Somebody who could occupy the bedroom opposite of them, who could stare in wonder at the large aquarium inside of it. Somebody who might even enjoy collecting seashells with Rhys while Jack follows them sullenly, complaining loudly but carrying their spoils all the same...

Put like that, the thought of carrying Jack’s child suddenly isn’t quite so scary anymore.

Humming, Jack presses his nose against Rhys’ ear, and his palm settles on Rhys’ stomach, a statement in itself, and Rhys smiles.

* * *

They clean themselves up with lingering touches and glances, and then sprawl out over the seating area in their underwear with more juice while they decide who gets the dubious honour of making the bed.

Jack says, eyes narrowed, “I got the blanket from the cupboard yesterday”

“After I pretty much forced you to,” Rhys reminds him helpfully, and with a raised eyebrow.

“Still counts.”

They stare at each other over the rim of their glasses until they’ve both drained them.

“Let’s decide that later.” Jack stretches his arms up above him, wincing slightly. He nods towards the door. “Want to go for a walk?”

Rhys snorts, pointedly makes himself more comfortable. “I just had a cock up my ass, so no, thank you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack’s eyes glint with wicked mischief. “Now that’s interesting. Tell me more about that cock. Was it massive? Was there maybe a knot involved as well? Was—”

Laughing incredulously, Rhys kicks him before he can utter another word, ignoring the various twinges the movement causes. “Get out!”

Jack’s laughing as well, practically doubled over while he walks back into the bathroom to get dressed.

Biting his traitorously grinning bottom lip, Rhys pokes at the rest of the stones and seashells still lying on the couch.

“Until later, babe,” Jack says, only a couple of minutes later, and leaves with an exaggerated wink sent Rhys’ way.

Rhys sticks his tongue out at his retreating back, and after the door falls shut, he stays still, listens to Jack swearing at the sand until he can’t hear him anymore.

When he’s sure that he’s well and truly alone, Rhys rushes over to the bedroom as well, grabs his prosthetic from the cradle. He puts some music on, turning the volume to low, and once he’s comfortable again on the couch, he quickly and efficiently sets the arm into its socket, wincing only once.

Rolling, his shoulder experimentally, he nods his head, satisfied.

Rhys turns his hand around on his knee, activating both the palm-comp and his ECHOeye, doesn’t even have to scroll through his contacts to get to the right one.

Just because Rhys decided not to bother Jack with any more questions about his past and the little girl during this trip doesn’t mean he can’t try to bother somebody else.

By her standards, Nisha accepts his call fairly quickly. 

Her face fills almost the entire screen of the palm-comp display, only the barest hint of the room behind her visible at the edges. Dark red walls, and lots of shelves filled with lots of knick knacks, but Rhys stopped trying to make out details after the first time when he spotted something that looked suspiciously like a human head in a jar.

“Heya, beanpole. Congrats on still being alive.” Her hair is steadily getting longer, framing her face already and going to her shoulders. The cowboy hat is still the same, just more beaten up than during her visit, and her sheriff star practically shines on her black vest when she leans back.

Rhys grins. Only Nisha could turn attempts on your life into a recurring joke, and he’s glad for it. “Same to you, sheriff.” He figured out quickly that she enjoyed being reminded of her title, and predictably, her purple lips gain a satisfied curl to it.

Then she squints, leaning in closer on the screen once more. The smile turns knowing, and she whistles. “Well, _somebody_ just got fucked.”

Reflexively, he grabs for his throat.

“Other side as well, babe,” Nisha all but purrs. “But no, it wasn’t the impressive cluster of hickeys you’re spotting that tipped me off.” She waves at her own face, pure delight radiating off of her even with entire planetary systems between them. “You give off this sated glow after sex, it’s hilarious.”

Rhys scratches the back of his neck, bites his lip. “You’re terrible.”

“Oh, I am!” She laughs. “And yet you still keep in contact with me. What does that say about you?” Before he can find a reply to that, Nisha leans back again, her chin resting on her clasped hands. “I see you two are enjoying your vacation to the fullest.”

“How come you know already?” Rhys whines unhappily. He was looking forward to playing a spectacularly unfair round of _guess where I am right now_ with her.

Huffing, she reaches to her left, and to Rhys’ abject horror, presents him with the atrocious skag in a hammock postcard.

Rhys presses his palm against his face, voice muffled. “I can’t believe he really sent it to you.” Jack must have done it while Rhys was buying the T-shirts yesterday; no wonder he was in such a good mood when he returned.

“Speaking from personal experience, you can’t ever leave that man out of your sight without it coming back to bite you in the ass later.” She nods seriously, the impression ruined by the amusement deeply etched into the corners of her mouth. 

“Yeah, I’m beginning to get that,” Rhys responds wryly, leaning more heavily against the back of the couch.

“Want to see the insightful and deep message he wrote me on the back?”

Even though he should know better, he really should, Rhys nods, wincing in anticipation even before Nisha turns the postcard around.

His snort turns into a guffaw, and ends in a groan.

The entire backside is covered by the almost lovingly detailed drawing of a cock, with little hairs added here and there for extra effect.

Honestly, Rhys isn’t even sure what else he expected.

“Not to be that person,” she tells him gravely, “but your taste in men really sucks.”

Rhys huffs, shrugs helplessly with one shoulder. “At least my taste in women is excellent, eh?”

Nisha throws her head back, and the throaty quality of her laugh makes him shift slightly, feeling the phantom-drag of her fingernails on his skin. “Very nice.” She claps her hands together, once, twice, and then like a switch was flipped, her voice turns lower, and her eyes narrow. “Now I wonder, what are you trying to butter me up for?”

Well, shit. He was naive to think typical Helios-tactics would work on her. 

You probably don’t survive Pandora for very long without becoming a total hardass, much less become the sheriff of a town and live for longer than a day.

Biting his bottom lip, Rhys looks at her from under his eyelashes. Maybe he’ll have better luck by subtly reminding her of the fun they had together on rumpled sheets. “I did want to ask you something.”

Nisha hums, sadly not affected at all, at least as far as he can tell. “Shoot away, cowboy.”

Here goes nothing. 

Rhys puts on a wide smile, and adds a healthy dose of cheer into his voice. “When we were done settling in here, Jack finally opened up to me.” He pauses there, just long enough to nod. “He’s told me all about her. She sounds like she was a wonderful girl.” He leans in closer again, knowing his eyes are wide and earnest. “How well did you know her?” _And what else can you tell me about her?_

Nisha doesn’t even give him the courtesy to pretend to believe him for a second. “Nice try, kid, nice try. You don’t know shit.” She doesn’t even sound mean when she says it.

Disappointed, Rhys falls back against the couch and pouts. Well, it was worth a try.

“Aw, don’t be sad. I’ll give you bonus points for effort.” She grins sharply. “But next time you should at least offer raunchy sexual favours to soften me up a bit more before trying to wheedle the details of Jack’s dirty laundry out of me.”

Rhys perks up immediately. “That would work?”

Chuckling, Nisha shakes her head at him, but there’s definitely a deep level of fondness shining in her eyes, it’s not just Rhys’ imagination. “And risk him raining Loader Bots and laserfire down on my town out of petty jealousy? No thanks, you’re not _that_ good of a lay.” She looks to her left for a moment, and again Rhys is struck by the scars she carries on her body, not just the prominent ones on her face and throat that are visible right now. 

Maybe Rhys’ll be able to get her to tell him the stories behind some of them one day, once he’s got interesting tales of his own to share in turn.

Her attention turns back to him. “We just got the clocktower repaired exactly how I wanted it after some wannabe big shots blew it up. I’d really hate for it to go up in flames again so soon.”

Frowning, Rhys inspects her face more closely, looking for fresh wounds. “You were attacked? Are you okay?”

He realises just how ridiculous the question is as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” A barked laugh, and a flurry of movement, lasting no longer than it takes for Rhys’ heart to beat once, and suddenly there’s a pistol in her hand. Blue and golden, the old fashioned design immediately reveals it to be a Jakobs gun, and somehow that makes Rhys wonder if Nisha ever uses Hyperion guns or if they simply don’t suit her style. “They don’t call me the Lawbringer for nothing.” Her eyes glint, full of dark promises, and there’s bloodlust dripping from the grimly amused slash of her mouth.

Suitably impressed and horny, Rhys adjusts himself in his boxershorts. Maybe he can convince Jack to invite her up again, make up some problem they need her help with and then sweet-talk Jack into taking business to bed.

Another thought occurs to him, and his legs twitches nervously. “You won’t tell Jack about this, right?”

Her eyes narrow again, this time in interest, and the pistol vanishes from sight once more. “I _might_ be convinced to keep my mouth shut about your laughably heavy-handed prying if you make it worth my while...”

Sighing heavily, Rhys bites the bullet. “What do you want?”

Nisha wriggles her fingers at him. “Nick me a bottle of something really expensive looking. That way I’ll at least get something useful out of the transport station we got, and not just ugly postcards.”

That Rhys can definitely do. “Sure, just give me the coordinates of your station.”

When they end the call soon after, Rhys makes for the bar, wanting to sent Nisha her bribe before Jack gets back.

He touches a few bottles at random before simply activating his ECHOeye to make the choice easier for him.

Rhys already has another question to ask Nisha next time they talk.

What kind of name is Lynchwood anyway?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only a short chapter today, because we should all really be treating ourselves to the fantastic [bigbang](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/BLBB2017) fics and artworks right now!

It’s doesn’t take long for Jack to come back, and by then Rhys is already in his swimming trunks, the clasp firmly lodged into place in his right shoulder.

Jack looks like he’s about to ask for a rest, but Rhys bats his eyes at him, helpfully holding out Jack’s pair of trunks to him, and Jack’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Can’t catch a break with you.”

“Nope.” Grinning, Rhys hops up and down on his feet, and once Jack is ready, they leave out the back of their bungalow.

There are already fresh towels laid out on the loungers, and Anel must still be a bit afraid Rhys told on him, if he’s keeping to the background like this.

Accompanied by the cries of seagulls and other birds, they make straight for the shore, and Rhys is already dipping his toes into the warm water when Jack says thoughtfully, “We’ll just have to keep a look out for the sea monster.”

Very slowly, Rhys turns towards him. “You’re joking.”

Jack simply stares back at him, dispassionately, for long enough that Rhys is beginning to inch away from the shore, and only then does Jack’s face finally stretch into a grin. “Just kidding. They got rid off the beast when they decided to turn this into a vacation resort.” He wades forward boldly, into the bright blue waves. “You can only cash in on so-called hunters once, because they either kill the thing they came to kill or they get themselves killed while failing spectacularly.” 

Noticing that Rhys is not following right behind him, he turns around, water already up to his hips where he rests his fists. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a bit of water?” His grin turns wider, and he moves backwards, further into the waves, his eyes never leaving Rhys. His voice gains volume the wider the distance becomes. “Come on, it won’t hurt you!”

“I’m not scared!” Rhys calls back, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth while he stares at the water that’s slowly lapping at Jack’s upper body. There’s just… a lot of the ocean suddenly, stretching out over the entire horizon, and what if Rhys somehow gets himself lost? He takes a small step and looks down, watches the water close in around his ankles. 

There, progress. Rhys is proud of himself. “I’m just kind of a bad swimmer, okay! Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m currently down to one arm!”

He’s very carefully making his way in further when a pair of familiar, hairy feet blocks his progress, attached to equally hairy legs. Blinking, Rhys looks up slowly; he hadn’t even noticed Jack coming back for him. Caught off guard, Rhys ends up mesmerised by the sight of Jack’s soft belly, hugged tightly by the black swimming trunks, and the dark treasure trail leading up from it.

Jack takes his hand, smiling lopsidedly. Gone is the gloating amusement, replaced by something without edges shining in his eyes. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

With only minimal resistance, Rhys lets himself be tugged forwards and into the waves, a lot faster than he’s quite comfortable with.

The sky is once again free of any clouds, the sun shining down on them undisturbed, and the sea is almost as warm as the air around them, but still there are goosebumps all over Rhys’ skin.

“Just keep looking down at your feet,” Jack says calmly, and Rhys focuses gladly on his voice, following his advice. “The water is so clear, you can see the ground. If you find a really extraordinary seashell I might be convinced to grab it for you if you ask nicely enough.”

Rhys snorts, but he’s definitely inspecting the area around his feet with a lot more interest, excited when he really does spot a few new shapes. Rhys actually manages to walk right into Jack’s chest when Jack stops suddenly, and startled, Rhys realises the water is almost up to his shoulders.

Jack gives him an embarrassing and completely unnecessary thumbs up. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it.”

Deciding not even to deign that with a reply, Rhys looks away from Jack, turning his attention to their surroundings instead. Reflexively, he grabs Jack’s hand a bit harder. 

The shore is not exactly far away, but here, surrounded by endless blue, it certainly seems that way.

“We can move a bit closer to the beach if you want.”

Shaking his head, Rhys inhales deeply, letting the smell of the sea fill his lungs. He exhales again, relaxing slightly. “I’m good.” Hesitantly, he lets go of Jack, takes a step away from him. 

Okay. This is okay. 

The waves rolling in around them and towards the shore are gentle, not nearly strong enough to pull Rhys’ off his feet. Still, just to be sure, he parts his legs slightly for added balance. He wiggles his toes in the sand, and experimentally draws his hand through the water, watches it flow through his parted fingers, mesmerised by the sight. 

“Of course, I don’t know if they’ve managed to get rid of the spawn of the sea monster yet.”

Rhys freezes, eyes shooting back to Jack who’s floating next to him, only his head and parts of his arms still above the water.

Making the truly shit-eating grin he’s spotting even more obvious.

You know what? Forget about being afraid of drowning.

With a shout, Rhys throws himself at Jack, and they both go under in a mess of flailing limbs and sputtering laughter.

* * *

Thoroughly drenched, they collapse onto the beach loungers with mutual groans of exhaustion.

“We should dry up,” Jack says, voice muffled by the lounger.

Rhys lets his arm fall into the sand below him. “Yeah.”

Neither of them make a move for the towels they’re lying on.

“Um, sirs? Can I get you something to drink?”

Squinting, Rhys lifts his head. When did Anel get here? Was he somehow hiding behind the palm trees until now? He really needs to teach this trick to Rhys before they leave, it’d be invaluable on Helios.

“Hey, Anel. Some of the orange juice for me today, please?”

Anel nods, staring at his feet. He flinches slightly when Jack speaks, which Rhys can’t even fault him for.

“Bring me the open bottle on the left side of the bar,” Jack orders, all alpha, and with nothing but a disinterested glance at Anel.

Sighing, Rhys pokes Jack with his left leg once they’re alone again, pleased when that makes sand stick to Jack’s skin. “Don’t be such an ass.” _Or Anel will be tempted to spit in your drink as well_ , he adds to himself.

Jack turns to him, his hair clinging to the side of his face, and a deep line between his eyebrows. “Where was the guy yesterday when you were basically starving out here? I think he was lurking around for a while, and then vanished without actually speaking to me.”

The question doesn’t take Rhys by surprise, and he pokes Jack again with his toe. “I sent him away, because I thought I might as well be completely alone after you dumped me for work.” Just to drive the point home, he purses his lips, stares at Jack’s shoulder as unhappily as he can manage.

Groaning, Jack presses his forehead back against the lounger. “I bought you the damn cake, I repented!” 

Grinning, Rhys shifts until he can kneed Jack’s ass with the heels of his feet, sing-songs, “Never said one piece of delicious cake would be enough to buy my forgiveness.”

No reply, but Jack’s shoulders are shaking with quiet mirth, his skin still shining slightly under the sunlight, and on a whim, Rhys draws himself up and crawls over to sit on Jack’s lower back.

Jack turns his head, looking at Rhys over his shoulder. “Anything I can help you with?” 

“Nah.” Rhys curls his fingers into claws, and digs them into Jack’s back, delighted when Jack jolts underneath him. “I’m good, thanks.” He repeats the process, again and again, over unblemished skin and the remnants of fixed scars alike, spurred on by Jack’s groans and moans, and more than a little aroused already.

“Rhysie,” Jack bites out between clenched teeth. “You should really stop now or we’ll end up putting on quite a show for the waiter guy.”

Rhys stills immediately, breathing heavily, his face heating up. Hastily, he looks up, but thankfully Anel is nowhere to be seen. He licks his lips, pats Jack’s ass in gratitude. “We’re still in the clear.”

Jack makes a thoughtful noise. “Any reason Armando is taking forever to bring us two simple drinks?”

Distractly, Rhys digs his forefinger right between Jack’s shoulder blades, making him arch up with a hiss. “His name is Anel, and who cares if it takes a bit longer? It’s not like we’re about to die of thirst.”

A snort. “Yet.” He shifts, and Rhys really is trying to will his erection down, this position is just making it rather difficult. Jack stretches his arms out above his head, and Rhys watches the play of muscles contained by hairy skin hungrily. “Guess he hasn’t been properly broken in yet. You’d be amazed how much a bit of a screaming does for the motivation of lazy staff.”

Wow, it’s really a good thing Jack was never a guest at the places Rhys spent his summers serving at, because he’s pretty sure all of his Handsome Jack posters would have ended up in a burning pile right away.

“No.” He smacks Jack lightly across the back of his head.

“ _Hey_.” Jack turns, abruptly enough to almost make Rhys fall off the lounger. “Don’t make me throw you off this ride!”

Fine. Rhys bends down, and bites Jack’s bond mark, enjoying more than a little when Jack bucks underneath him with a heated curse. “No screaming,” Rhys whispers against Jack’s throat, and licks the mark in an apology he doesn’t really mean.

He’s pretty sure Jack is about to say something along the lines of, _oh, but you’re going to be screaming my name later_ , and Rhys really doesn’t have to hear that. “So,” he says quickly, softly. “Not to sound greedy or anything, but will we be able to do this more often?”

Rhys is not just talking about the vacation here, but he’s pretty sure Jack’s well aware of that. They now spent far more time together than ever before, yeah, that’s true, but this trip was the first time they ever had a real meal together.

Jack’s face turns into a wistful grimace. “I don’t think you realise just how busy I’ll be putting out fires as soon we’re back on Helios.”

Sighing, Rhys taps his fingers against Jack’s back. “Have you ever thought about training up somebody else?” He can practically _feel_ Jack protesting that idea immediately, and elaborates hastily. “Not with everything, of course, but there have to be same tasks and decisions that you could delegate to somebody you trust.”

 _Somebody like me, maybe?_ Even in his own head the idea sounds ridiculous; Rhys is still far away from being helpful to Jack, and so Jack’s laughter doesn’t even sting.

“Nope. Only I’m able to handle Hyperion, and everything it entails.”

Well, it was worth a try. Grinning, Rhys draws one fingernail down over Jack’s spine, enjoying the goosebumps he can see raising up. “Clones, then.”

Jack actually turns his head farer than can be comfortable to stare at him disbelievingly. “Do you even know who you’re talking to? The known universes can barely handle one Handsome Jack.”

Rhys is about to tell him that it was just a joke, but apparently he’s accidentally struck a nerve.

“Can you imagine? They would all want to rule just as much as I do. They would all want a piece of _you_.” He reaches behind himself to grab Rhys’ hip to further drive home the point he’s making. “It wouldn’t take long until they’d start getting rid of each other, of the competition.” He stops, thoughtful. “They might even go after me as well if there are no precautions implemented against that, and then, after the dust is settled it would just be me standing there, again, having to clean up their mess. Alone.” Jack takes a deep breath, apparently done with his lecture.

“Technically, it would be _your_ mess,” Rhys can’t help pointing out helpfully. “And maybe one of them would be willing to cooperate with you?”

“Yes, yes, technicalities.” Jack pats his side to shut him up. “But I’m the original. The others would just be clones. Fake-Jacks. They’d probably just fuck up everything.”

Laughing incredulously, Rhys strokes through Jack’s hair. “So let me get this straight.” He has to bite his lip for a moment to even be able get the words out. “You’re the only one who can do your job, but you also don’t trust yourself to do it for you.” 

“Basically, yeah.” Jack growls. “Don’t make it sound so weird. I don’t share, end of story.”

Rhys leans down, presses a knowing smile against Jack’s cheek. “Jack, I’m very sorry to tell you this, but you’ve got real problems.”

“Not more than everybody else.” Jack sniffs, obviously peeved. “Your idea wasn’t entirely terrible,” he amends suddenly, as if afraid he’s somehow hurt Rhys’ feelings by shooting him down so decisively. “I’ll probably come up with something else. Eventually.”

“I’m sure you will.” Rhys hums, letting his lips trail over the back of Jack’s neck. “Just give me a heads-up before I accidentally make out with the wrong Jack.”

Snorting, Jack pats his side again. “You'll be the first to know.”

A muscle in Rhys’ back twinges against the position, and when he rights himself again, he spots Anel making his way over to them. “See, there he is already. No reason to get mad.”

Rhys considers scooting back over to his own lounger, but seeing as Anel already knows they are fucking that seems like a lot of effort for nothing. He stays exactly where he is, smiling at Anel.

...who is still not looking at either of them.

Oh, well. At least his hands aren’t shaking when he places the tray on the table next to them, so there’s that.

“Took you long enough, Anderson,” Jack says disinterestedly, which is entirely on Rhys, really. 

He didn’t instruct Jack not to be an asshole.

“Thanks, Anel.” He pinches Jack below his neck, hoping the name will stick. “You can take the rest of the day off.”

Jack snorts. “Yeah sure,” he grumbles, just loud enough to be heard clearly. “That’s apparently exactly what I’m paying him for.”

Rhys’ smile becomes slightly strained, and when Anel fimally meets his eyes for a second, his own looks more like a grimace.

“Thank you,” Anel croaks, and hastily makes his stumbling retreat over the sand and back to the bungalow, so eager to get away from Jack.

Sighing, Rhys slides over onto his own beach lounger again. He’s actually rather thirsty now.

“Do you just want to drink it straight from the bottle or should I pour you a glass?”

With a pleased rumble, Jack turns onto his back, adjusts his lounger until he can lean upright against it. He starts fiddling with Rhys’ backrest as well. “Pour me one, then we can toast each other properly.”

This is something Rhys can do without any trouble. He pours two glasses, one with fantastic smelling juice for himself, and one with whatever eye-watering stuff Jack’s having.

Once done, he hands Jack his glass before turning back to him and onto his side, holding his own.

“To a fantastic first vacation together, and many more in the future.”

That sounded weirdly… final.

Rhys startles. Until now he hadn’t realised they would already be leaving tomorrow already. 

The days passed way too quickly. 

Smiling wistfully, Rhys clinks his glass against Jack’s. “To an eventful day, and a truly memorable vacation.”

Jack chuckles. “I’ll definitely drink to that.”

Licking his dry lips, Rhys raises the glass to his mouth—

Only to be stopped in the last moment by Jack’s fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist.

He laughs. “You could have just said you wanted to drink juice as well.”

There’s no trace of humour in Jack’s face, and Rhys frowns. “Jack?”

Sitting up, Jack places his glass next to him, his movements tense. He never lets go of Rhys’ hand, as if he’s afraid Rhys is going to take a sip if he doesn’t pay close attention. “Give me yours as well.”

Rhys lets Jack take the glass from his unresisting fingers, genuinely unsettled now. “Jack?” he asks again, voice small.

Holding his nose over Rhys’ drink, Jack’s shoulders relax a fraction. “Yours is fine.” He meets Rhys’ eyes, trying for a reassuring smile.

But there’s nothing to hide the dangerous glint in his eyes, the unnatural calm Rhys can sense at the edges of the bond, and Rhys curls his arm around himself. “Jack, what’s going on?”

Jack visibly hesitates, and that more than anything causes something suspiciously like panic to bubble up in Rhys’ chest. “ _Please_ , tell me.”

“Alright.” Jack sighs heavily, and his expressions seems... almost remorseful. “Here, take a sniff.” He holds his own glass out to Rhys, and hesitantly, Rhys leans in closer.

For very long, Rhys doesn’t smell anything but alcohol, and he scrunches up his nose against the sharpness of it. He’s about to give up when there’s suddenly something else as well. “What’s that note of... sweetness and citrus?”

Jack looks at him with grim satisfaction, taking the glass quickly away from him once more. “Poison,” he says calmly, and even though Rhys was already suspecting this, in the very back of his head, the word still somehow comes as a shock to him. “Very rare, and one of the most lethal ones currently on the market.” He sets the glass back down. “It’s not exactly one you can get easily, even with enough funds and the right contracts.” His eyes flicker to Rhys, back to the glass.

Rhys is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing at some point.

“It takes a good couple of days until the first symptom hits you — a real mean, green rash on your back — and for most people at this point it’s already Game Over.” He touches Rhys’ knee gently, jolting him into a shaky inhale. “Most people, not me. It’s cured instantly by one of the antidotes I carry in my emergency pack at all times, so I would have been fine.”

Rhys exhales, nodding minutely.

No wonder Anel was in such a hurry to get away from them just now, not looking them in the eyes at all—

“Yesterday,” Rhys says numbly, even before he’s fully made the connection. The contents in his stomach turn sour, and he presses his palm against his mouth.

“What is it?” Jack’s hands are on him instantly, touching his legs, his chest, his back, and arm before framing his face. “Rhysie?”

Rhys inhales, shivering, and unable to stop. “He didn’t want to give me the first drink he brought me yesterday. He was so nervous and twitchy, I thought…”

He’d been so _stupid_. “I thought he spit in it, and then he got me another one, and I thought it was okay.” His voice becomes more and more quiet until he trails off completely, and before his eyes, Jack’s face, his entire demeanor...

Changes.

The bond sings between them, but it’s not a comforting note.

It’s Handsome Jack who wraps his arms around him, and presses a kiss against his temple. “Oh, don’t worry. It _will_ be okay.” There’s a grin in voice, sharp and terrible. “I’ll make sure of it.”

When he withdraws, Rhys grabs at him. “Don’t.” He holds himself still under the alpha’s gaze. “Don’t keep me out of this. I deserve to know as well.”

It takes a long moment, but finally Jack tilts his head in agreement.

They stand up together, Rhys’ fingers wrapped tightly around Jack’s right arm.

Patting Rhys’ hip, the alpha chuckles. “Let’s get us some answers from our dear hosts, shall we?” He lifts his other hand high up, only the pinkie finger extended, and Rhys watches with wide eyes as Loader Bots rise from the sands around them, others descending from somewhere up on the cliffs.

Not two seconds later, the Loader Bots surround them in a semi-circle, awaiting orders, and Rhys can do nothing but stare, counting them.

 _...twenty-four, twenty-five_ , and very distantly, Rhys thinks, _No wonder Jack was so relaxed_.

He had everything under control the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and no, I really couldn't resist. sorry, for the kinda-cliffhanger? :x


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're having a lovely Sunday!

Half of the Loader Bots are dispatched, the other half take up positions around the bungalow and in the cove, and once the bungalow is thoroughly scanned and considered safe — especially the contents of the kitchen — Rhys is ordered inside to put on a shirt.

Rhys doubts it will help against the shivering that has taken a hold of him, but he doesn’t try to argue. Instead, he goes for his prosthetic as well, and before he leaves, he cups his palms under the faucet in the kitchen and takes a couple of sips instead of approaching the fridge, well aware that he’s being ridiculous.

When he comes back outside, he isn’t quite sure who it is that’s leaning against the side of the veranda, and hesitantly, he holds the alpha’s T-shirt out, an offering.

Jack smiles back at him. “Thanks. I’ve tortured people basically naked before, but it’s always a pain to get all the blood off of you once it’s dried and flaking.”

Torture. 

Rhys swallows.

It makes sense, doesn’t it? Anel got cold feet when it came to poisoning Rhys, but he definitely tried to murder Jack. Maybe Xin is involved as well, and who knows who else? One of the shopkeepers who made small talk with Rhys? The entire town?

Is this how Jack always has to think?

“Sit,” Jack tells him, voice soft but laden with authority, and between them, the ringing of the bond increases even further, becoming impossible to ignore.

The side of his throat tingles when Rhys sits down on the steps leading up to the bungalow, and he’s ridiculously glad to be told what to do, for the moment of silence in his head. He reaches out to his alpha, to Jack, through the bond, desperately seeking more of it—

Serene calm washes over Rhys, taking him completely by surprise and under.

Eventually the silence is broken by the other Loader Bots returning, two of them with living cargo trapped against their chest.

Anel obviously put up a fight. His left eye is already swelling shut, blood running from his nose, and when the Loader Bot lets go of him, he falls down onto his knees, groaning, and a hand pressed against his side.

Xin steps out of the Loader Bots embrace as if she meant to travel with it all along, her movements calm and dignified, her red dress only a little wrinkled. “What’s going on?” she asks, looking from Jack to Rhys to Anel and back to Jack again.

Jack snorts, taking a step closer to them. “Hey, don’t steal my lines.” He nods towards Anel, who’s only now managing to raise his head. “Dear Alvin here has apparently taken to dabbling in poison in his abundant free time.” Jack pauses, letting his words descend on them like a shroud. “And all I want to know is just how exactly he managed to get his hands on that particular blend, and _maybe_ you get to keep some of your extremities before I put you out of your misery.”

“What?” Pure fury contorts Xin’s features, and for a moment Rhys is sure she’s going to attack Jack. But her anger isn’t directed at his alpha at all, and she turns her head to Anel, fast enough that Rhys’ neck aches in sympathy. “What did you do!” Her voice echoes around the cove, shrill and seething.

“I’m sorry, aunt,” Anel says, but doesn’t really sound it. As if to prove Rhys right, he spits red at Jack’s feet. “I didn’t want to drag you into this.” He looks at Jack then for the first time, and the blazing rage in his eyes startles Rhys. “You killed my best friend!” Anel struggles up to his feet, only to immediately be struck down by the Loader Bot behind him. “You monster, you killed Landon!”

They’ve got the motive. Revenge.

Rhys tilts his head, feeling like a passive onlooker, and merely a guest in his own body. His breathing is almost mechanically even, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.

Did Jack murder this Landon personally? Did Handsome Jack? Both unlikely.

Hyperion, then.

Rhys nods to himself.

The Loader Bot clasps its metal arm on Anel’s shoulder, keeping him pinned down, and Rhys blinks languidly.

Sometimes, you stumble over information about an officially unclaimed Eridium mine.

Sometimes, a couple of days after you’ve reported your findings to your superior, somewhere on some planet a small town goes up in flames due to faulty gas pipes.

Sometimes, these events are related. 

Sometimes, they are not.

This was how it went for him. Vaughn has three stories much in the same vein, Yvette more than you can count on two hands, and you’ll be hard pressed to find anybody working for the big companies who doesn’t carry with them at least one.

“This is how you think to thank me!” With a shout, Xin throws herself at Anel, and Rhys jolts.

Jack glances at him, a question in his eyes, and Rhys stands up on surprisingly steady legs to stand beside him.

They watch while Xin scratches and claws, calling Anel by names that have Rhys’ ears turning red.

After a couple of minutes, Jack signals with his hand, and one Loader Bot heaves a kicking Xin off of Anel, who’s curled into himself and still staring at Jack hatefully.

He made no move to defend himself against the onslaught or to stop his aunt, and Rhys wonders why he noticed this.

“Well, as entertaining as this was, now I know who’ll be able to help me scratch my curiosity itch.”

Anel’s smile is a bloody grimace. “I won’t tell you shit.”

A dark and foreboding chuckle, all Handsome Jack. “That’s what they always say.” He makes another small gesture, and Anel slumps to the ground, unconscious not a second later. Jack turns away, doesn’t pay any more attention to Xin, as if she isn’t even there anymore.

Rhys realises what’s about to happen to her with startling, horrifying clarity, and he shakes his head once, firmly. The unnatural calm that was not his own fades away, and almost immediately he feels like he’s come back to himself.

He touches the alpha’s elbow, waits until Jack’s head is tilted towards him. “She didn’t have anything to do with this.” He gets a grunt in reply, and Rhys softens his tone, makes himself appear smaller while leaning against the alpha’s side. “I like this place, and I want to visit it again.” Rhys is too far out of his element right now to fake anything, and so he’s all the more relieved for the slight hitch in his breathing. “With you. Please spare her? For me?” He looks up at Jack with wide eyes.

This entire poison business was a wake-up call for Rhys, there’s no denying that. But it wasn’t the first attempt on his life and neither will it be the last.

Rhys knew this already.

Just as he knows that this vacation will be irrevocably tainted if Xin’s life ends up lost to collateral damage.

She is a part of this place, of the Toe, and even if it doesn’t seem important right now, she’s also a link to a lost part of Jack’s life. Maybe one of precious few.

Handsome Jack might never admit it, but Rhys is sure _Jack_ would regret killing her once his bloodlust has ebbed.

Jack’s palm presses warm and comforting against Rhys’ neck, and Rhys lets out a relieved sigh. 

“Alright.” The alpha looks at Xin, one corner of his mouth tilted up in a grim facsimile of the real thing. “Guess this is your lucky day.” Another gesture and the Loader Bot moves away from her.

Xin bows, her voice shaking only slightly. “We have a room that you can use.” She turns her back to Anel, effectively severing any ties she ever had with him. When Jack raises an eyebrow at her, she elaborates, with a wry grin. “You would be surprised by how often a vacation resort is in need of a quiet room to conclude business in. We did not remain at the top for so long only to have others besmirch our hard earned reputation.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” Jack gestures at the Loader Bots. “You two, take the human trash. You, you and you two, with me.” He turns back to Rhys, voice unbelievably gentle, and utterly at odds with the entire situation. “Rhys?”

Rhys shakes his head, leans in to press his lips against Jack’s, fleetingly. “No, I think I’ve had enough excitement for a day.”

He’s seen enough of the other side to last him for a while.

Jack’s palm lingers on his cheek, seemingly satisfied. “You stay right here, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

As if Rhys felt like taking a stroll right now.

Nodding, Rhys’ eyes follow Jack’s back as he walks into the bungalow. He’s pretty sure leaving most of the Loader Bots with him is a bit overkill, but maybe Jack just doesn’t want to draw too much attention to himself back in town. He jolts when he’s suddenly grabbed.

Xin squeezes his hand. “Thank you,” she says quietly, an apology swimming in her eyes.

Smiling crookedly, Rhys shrugs. “Sorry your next family meeting is going to be extremely awkward.”

She grins again, slow and more than a little malicious. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be having a blast holding this over my cousin’s head until she finds a way to repay me.”

That’s… one way to look at it.

They go through the bungalow while the Loader Bots fly over it, and there’s already a silver hover-car waiting for them that Jack must have ordered here at some point.

He waves back at Jack while he and Xin get into the hover-car and then Rhys is alone.

Well, as alone as you can be with almost twenty Loader Bots standing guard around you.

At a loss of what to do, especially with the previously overwhelming sensation of the bond now nothing but a mere hum, Rhys drums his fingers against his side, turning on the radio while he walks over to the couch.

Once seated, he writes up a short message to Yvette. Or tries to; he has to delete it several times before he feels it’s inconspicuous enough.

_Still having a great time, looking forward to seeing you guys again tomorrow!_

Okay. Rhys folds his hands over his stomach. Now what?

Always ready to be extremely unhelpful, his brain does the equivalent of a mental shrug. Groaning, Rhys drags his fingers over his face.

Is this is a good time to call Nisha again?

Yeah, Rhys thinks, laughing hollowly to himself.

It definitely is.

* * *

Nisha is _thrilled_ by the attempt on their lives, and only slightly disappointed Rhys didn’t stay for the torture.

“You’ll let me know what he finds out, yeah? He’s probably too embarrassed some random teen almost managed to fuck up your vacation to ever tell me about this.”

Rhys nods, flattered she seems to think Jack is going to share the information with him, because he isn’t quite so sure about that. “I will.” He sounds weirdly subdued even to his own ears.

Now that he’s told her the abridged version of what happened, he can feel the helpless restlessness trickle back into his bones.

On the palm-comp display, Nisha leans in closer. “Let me tell you about my new and improved clocktower, and the little shoot-out I had with the assholes who wanted into my vault,” she says with a wide grin, and Rhys relaxes against the couch, only too happy to focus on her voice.

He’s going to sent her another bottle, that’s already a given.

* * *

True to his words, it only takes two hours until the door to the bungalow opens again, and Handsome Jack wanders in. By that time it’s almost night, and Rhys has actually managed to get some food into his stomach.

Rhys takes one look at the sweaty skin, the specks of blood on a blank mask, and the abrasions on large hands.

Wordlessly, Rhys walks over to the alpha, grabs his surprisingly pristine shirt and slowly pulls him towards the bathroom.

Handsome Jack remains silent and Rhys takes his cue from him, carefully washes the blood from the still unmoving mask with a wet washcloth, thoroughly and tenderly cleans hands that lie passively in his own.

When Rhys is done, the steel has drained from the alpha’s muscles and it’s Jack’s hands that gently cup his face. “In a positively underwhelming twist, it was just some random upshot pulling the strings who wanted to free up a space at the top for his own company. I didn’t even recognise the name.”

Rhys smiles, leaning into the touch. “You sound slightly disappointed.”

“Obviously.” One of Jack’s thumb pushes at Rhys’ bottom lip. “Didn’t leave exact mission parameters, and didn’t even hire a professional to get the job done. You _always_ hire professionals or it just ends in colossal disaster. Fucking cheapskate amatuers.”

Sounds like Jack’s speaking from experience. “Good for us, though,” Rhys comments cheerfully, and playfully bites at Jack’s thumb.

Jack huffs, his eyes trained on Rhys’ mouth. “There’s that.” He shakes his head, pulling Rhys with him out of the bathroom, and into the bedroom.

When they pass by the still rumpled bed without stopping, Rhys is more than a little confused.

Once on the veranda, and Jack points ahead of them. “See the small light out there?”

Squinting, Rhys searches the horizon until he spots the small lightspot dancing on the waves, not too far away from the shore. “Yeah, what is it?”

Jack’s arm settles on his shoulder, pulling him closer against Jack’s side. “A surprise,” is all he says, rather cryptically.

Rhys frowns at him.

“Don’t be so impatient, just wait for a second.” Jack laughs quietly, nudges his hip against Rhys’.

The boom of the first explosion startles Rhys badly, and he quickly looks back out towards the sea. “Fireworks?” he breathes wonderingly, and in the next moment the night sky is lit up by golden shimmers.

Next to him, Jack hums, his fingers gently stroking over Rhys’ side. “Happy last vacation day, Rhysie.”

Laughing, Rhys presses a kiss against Jack’s check. “Happy last vacation day to you, too.”

They watch the fireworks, most of them golden in colour, but there’s a bit of silver and red thrown in as well.

A splash not far from them makes Rhys lean forward, even though there’s no chance he’ll be able to spot anything in this darkness, even with the lanterns behind them and the fireworks in front of them. He turns to Jack, a question already on his lips.

Jack grins at him, just as there’s another explosion, and an eerie red glow paints itself over his face. “Look... don’t ask, and enjoy the show.”

Another splash in the waves, definitely caused by something larger than the usually small casings of a rocket, and Rhys is slowly getting the suspicion that whatever is left of Anel is sleeping with the fishes from here on out.

You know what? Jack actually gives sound advice sometimes, and he wasn’t that curious anyway.

Rhys leans his head on Jack’s shoulder, curls his arm around Jack’s middle.

They watch the rest of the fireworks in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays everybody! may your days be filled with joy.

Much later, they end up making the bed together, with sleepy mumbles and uncoordinated movements, and even with two pairs of hands it takes twice as long as it would normally.

Rhys is pretty sure that’s what you get for procrastinating chores until well after midnight.

They sleep deeply and well into the next day, and Rhys wakes with Jack’s mouth on his throat.

He purrs, tilting his head to give Jack better access. “Mornin’.”

A content rumble is the only reply he gets, Jack apparently too busy marking Rhys up even further for anything more.

Smiling, Rhys pats the back of Jack’s head with a still heavy hand. “I want to go to that underwater aquarium before we leave.” Licking his dry lips, he adds hopefully, “Breakfast?”

Apparently satisfied with his work, Jack’s lips leave his skin with a loud smack. “Sounds like a plan.”

There’s a note on the already filled table.

_Good Morning,_

_please enjoy your breakfast. Recent events force my attention elsewhere, but should you be in need of anything else, call me immediately, and please, definitely before your departure._

_Yours respectfully_

_Xin_

Rhys folds the note up, slides it into his sock, and then they dig in with fervour.

Having learning their lesson from the previous night, they pack their backpacks while getting ready, leaving them to be collected and transported to the shuttle by somebody else.

Their clothes were cleaned once already, and so they can get dressed in the same outfits they wore on their first day here without leaving Rhys feeling like too much like a slob.

Jack’s bright green Ananas T-shirt is still too much, especially with the brown khakis, but at least the awful sneakers haven’t made their return yet.

Prosthetic already set in his shoulder, Rhys slides into his frayed jeans shorts next, but decides in the last second to try on his new cat shirt instead of the one he brought with him. Rhys grabs his sandals, turns to Jack expectantly. “Ready.”

An exasperatedly amused huff, and Jack presses the strawhat onto Rhys’ hair once more, ruining ten minutes of hard work immediately. “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

Rhys grins at him while they leave the bungalow. “Nah, I just like to make you feel useful.”

Jack’s hand settles comfortably into Rhys’ back pocket again, and Jack snorts. “Right.”

Even though he’s unable to make out any suspicious mounds in the sand, he has no doubt that the Loader Bots are still around somewhere, guarding them, and Rhys hums to himself, pleased by the thought.

They take their time strolling through Enux one final time, and eventually Rhys tugs Jack over to a colourful booth.

Jack groans. “Didn’t you just have breakfast?”

“It’s ice cream,” Rhys says shrewdly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Obviously already knowing better than to argue with Rhys when it comes to this, Jack merely shakes his head with a twitch of his lips, already reaching for his credit card.

The aquarium is past the landing port, well outside of town, sitting prominent and alone on the upper end of the beach. It looks fairly new, the metal of its walls still shiny and the dark blue accents strong.

Clapping his hands, Rhys walks cheerfully through the empty barriers where usually a queue would be, and he can feel Jack’s amused eyes on him, but doesn’t care enough to stop.

There’s nobody to hand out entry tickets, only the automated elevator, and Rhys hops up and down on the balls of his feet while they go down and down.

“They’ve apparently put a lot of resources into this place, let’s see if it can live up to that,” Jack says sceptically, and Rhys flashes him a smile, grabs his hand when the elevator doors slide open.

They are greeted by a corridor, lit in warm white and seemingly going on forever.

Slightly underwhelming, but at the very end of it Rhys can make a blue glow and he strides towards it with purpose, practically dragging a chuckling Jack behind him.

But even Jack whistles when the aquarium finally opens up into a glass dome. 

Rhys lets his mouth hang open in wonder.

There’s nothing but glass between them and the ocean above and around them, fish and the weirdest looking corals so close, they give off the impression you could just reach out your fingers and touch them.

He can barely make out a couple of tunnels, connecting this dome to others, and everything is tinted in the bright blue of the ocean surrounding them. 

They walk down a couple of steps, and laughing, Rhys slips out of his sandals. 

However obviously man-made the construction, the entire ground was left in its natural state, and Rhys wiggles his toes in the sand while he cranes his neck up to watch a large school of green and yellow fish swim past overhead, shimmering in the sunlight filtering in from above.

Around them, inside of the dome, the sand is forming small hills here and them, various corals placed seemingly at random everywhere, somehow still alive even though they are not in water.

No clear path to walk on except for where your feet take you, and Rhys could spend an entire vacation down here.

“This is nice, I guess,” Jack says, standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Rhys’ laugh turns into a snort, and he pokes Jack’s side with a finger. “Understatement of the century?” He spots an anchor just outside to their left, a large manta circling it, and grins giddily. “This is the coolest place I’ve ever seen.”

Jack puts his arm around Rhys’ shoulder, and together they make for one of the two tunnels leading into another dome. “Careful, remember where you work. Wouldn’t want to give me the impression Helios isn’t impressive enough for you anymore.”

“If I could stay here I would dump Hyperion immediately,” Rhys tells him earnestly and without missing a beat.

He’s shoved suddenly, and his laughter fills the air around them once more when his fall ends, cushioned by a sandhill.

“I’ll remember that.” Smirking, Jack reaches his hand out to help Rhys up, and Rhys grins right back at him.

“I bet you’ll have forgotten all about it by the time we get out of here, old man.”

That comment almost lands him in the sand again, but it’s totally worth it for the mirth dancing in Jack’s eyes.

The walk through the tunnel, just tall enough so they don’t have to duck their heads. It would be intimidating, this claustrophobic space with an entire ocean pressing in on them, but Rhys trails a finger over the glass above, too comforted by the bright blue that engulfs them to feel anything but awe.

Gently but insistently, Jack tugs him towards the side of the other dome, and Rhys spots the yellow blanket laid out against the very edge of it, and the basket on it before he can wonder too much about that.

Sitting down on the blanket, he sends Jack a curious glance.

Jack shrugs, making himself comfortable next to him with a groan. “What can I say, I enjoy planning ahead.”

“You really do,” Rhys replies with a smile, already reaching for one of the fruit slices, and throwing it into his mouth.

They eat and drink, and with the help of his ECHOeye, Rhys points out whatever curiosity catches his attention.

“That one is a _Chindongo demasoni_ ,” he says, pointing towards a blue fish with darker stripes. “And, oh, look over there!” Patting Jack’s arm and turning around, he gestures excitedly towards another fish that’s just swimming by right next to them. “That’s a _Longhorn Cowfish_ , he’s yellow and looks kinda funny, what with the horns and weird shape, but apparently they are really poisonous, and isn’t that—”

He stops, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, because Jack’s very close, and not paying any attention to the wonders around them.

Jack’s staring at _him_ , his mouth curled into a downright soft shape. Or maybe that’s just a trick of the gentle lightning. “Rhysie,” he says, voice quiet, and he edges closer still. “You’re... such a nerd.” 

The last word is muffled and pressed against Rhys’ lips, so Rhys is unable to object to that accusation, successfully distracted even before he’s pushed firmly against the glass, and Jack’s hands settle impatiently on the button of his shorts.

“This place is really open, I know, but we’re alone, so please tell me you’re not opposed to the idea.” Rhys T-shirt has ridden up, and Jack’s fingers still, twitching only slightly against the bare skin of Rhys’ stomach.

There’s fire in Jack’s mismatched eyes, and with great trouble, Rhys tears his gaze away, back to their surroundings.

Does he care about the fish around them? Hardly, and his ECHOeye informs him quickly that the mostly concealed cameras set up high are all turned off.

Meeting Jack’s intense stare again, Rhys deactivates his ECHOeye, and lifts his hips in answer.

Jack’s mouth is on him again immediately, hungrily, his hands tugging and pulling at Rhys’ shorts and then underwear fitfully until they’re hanging somewhat askew around Rhys’ upper legs, and Jack’s palm is wrapped around his half-hard cock.

Rhys squeezes his eyes shut, and his head hits the glass behind him with a dull thud.

“Look at you,” Jack growls. His other hand lifts one of Rhys’ legs, drags Rhys’ ass closer to him, leaving Rhys exposed and curled into himself, spread out on the blanket like a buffet. “So beautifully flushed and eager for me.”

Whimpering, Rhys makes a blind grab for Jack’s shoulder, and he gasps loudly when one of Jack’s fingers teases at his entrance, the palm holding his now fully hardened cock stilling. He’s acutely aware of the soft material under him, sticking to his skin, and the unyielding glass pressing uncomfortably against the back of his head; of himself, almost completely naked while Jack’s towering over him, still fully clothed.

“I wish you could see yourself like this.” Jack’s voice is soft, and damp breath ghosting over the inside of Rhys’ thigh is all the warning he has before Jack’s teeth sink into the flesh there.

He howls, fisting both of his hands into Jack’s shoulders, and in Jack’s grasp, Rhys’ cock jolts.

“Like I see you,” Jack says in low tones, licking soothingly over the bite. He takes his hand away from Rhys’ cock, and Rhys blinks at him, dizzy and out of breath.

Jack’s still staring at his face, even while he’s slowly pushing his thumb into Rhys’ wet entrance. “I want to lock you up somewhere, keep you all to myself.” He leans in, stealing another kiss from Rhys’ panting mouth. The alpha’s voice is nothing but a growl when he says, “And I want to put you on display somewhere, let everybody catch a glimpse of what they’ll never have, because you’re _mine_.”

Eyes wide open and unseeing, Rhys shivers, and with a surprised groan, he paints his stomach and part of his shirt with come.

Panting heavily, they blink at each other.

And then Jack’s lips stretch into an awful and very wide grin, his thumb still barely inside of Rhys, and Rhys presses his shaking palms against his face, wishing for a quick and merciful death.

“Did I just make you come with my _voice_?” Gleeful disbelief in every word.

“Please kill me now,” Rhys says, muffled by his hands. He makes a high noise in the back of his throat when Jack’s thumb leaves his body.

Jack laughs, mercilessly pulling his arms away. “Oh, no,” he says, grinning so widely now Rhys hopes it hurts him. “No, no, no. _This_ is going right into the family album.”

Moaning fitfully, Rhys presses his face into the crook of Jack’s neck, deciding to hide there instead.

Forever, if necessary, because Jack is _never going to let him live this down_.

In a desperate bid for a distraction, Rhys reaches for Jack’s crotch, but Jack only shakes his head, playfully batting him away. “Later, princess. This one was _all_ for you.”

He presses another moan into Jack’s shoulder, this time even more miserable than the one before.

Apparently finally taking pity on Rhys, Jack wraps his arms around him, patting his back and merely chuckling now. “You know, I’ve changed my mind.”

Rhys makes a questioning sound, still trying and failing to will himself out of existence.

“Once we’re back, you’ll come with me, right? To our place?” He strokes the back of Rhys’ neck gently. “I’m sure whatever is burning can wait another night.”

Tilting his head, Rhys presses his nose against Jack’s skin, and inhales his scent deeply; lets it fill his lungs and settle into his bones.

 _Our place_.

“Okay.” He nods softly.

Jack presses his mouth against Rhys’ tattoo, just above the bonding mark. “Good, great.” His arms wrap even more tightly around Rhys, seemingly unwilling to let him go at all, and completely at odds with his nonchalant reply.

Hesitantly, Rhys puts his arms around Jack’s shoulders. Maybe he doesn’t have to die of embarrassment quite yet. 

Maybe Jack is in just as deep as he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, the last chapter. I'm a bit sad to see their vacation come to an end already, but I hope you enjoyed 'who is the lamb' as much I enjoyed writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> please remember, your nice comments and [asks](https://ledgem.tumblr.com/ask) are the free, ecofriendly fuel this series continues to live on.


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